


Destruction is the Start of Something New

by DoYourResearch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Molly, BAMF Mycroft, F/F, F/M, Gen, PTSD John, Post-Reichenbach, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 33
Words: 83,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoYourResearch/pseuds/DoYourResearch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new game is about to start, beginning with the end of the old ways of the lives of everyone involved. Moriarty decides to get involved in more "domestic" affairs as a hobby to his larger schemes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Sherlock fan fiction. I'm planning on making this a long one and I have a big story line planned out for it but all I ask for is patience. So, here we go...

“Tell me, brother, how does your diet go?” Sherlock Holmes sneered at Mycroft. It was usually the first insult that was hurled at him by his younger sibling when they occupied the same space. As infuriating as Sherlock could be, he refrained from showing any distress from his commentary. He looked to his brother’s companion, Dr. John Watson, with a look of boredom and an expression only showing that his precious time was wasting away. 

 

“Sh-Sherlock, try and be polite. You only threw bullets in the fireplace this morning because you were complaining about being bored,” John mumbled nervously, feeling unsteady under Mycroft’s gaze. Sherlock mumbled something that neither of the other two men could distinguish as Mycroft glanced out of the corner of his eyes to fresh bullet holes scattered haphazardly through the walls and furniture, blending in with the other bullet holes Sherlock had bestowed upon the apartment during previous fits of boredom. 

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb before pressing them outward along his brows. His best friend, partner, and room mate tested his patience and sanity on an almost daily schedule. He kept his hand over his eyes. He could feel the pulls of a migraine growing in his mind.

 

All Mycroft wanted from his brother was to glance over a crime scene no more than 6 blocks away from the very apartment they were standing in. The two school age children of a very important political figure were found shot and just barely survived with their lives in their rooms and a third, in her teens, was missing but presumed dead due to signs of struggle and bloodshed. Time was of the essence and upon presenting the case to Sherlock, he was simply met with yet another comment on his weight.

 

Sherlock stood by the fireplace and ran his hand over the mantle before smoothly sweeping his prized skull up and holding it before his face so it looked at him. He took a deep breath and rolled his eyes, “Why don’t you have Lestrade take a look into it? You know how I feel about children.”

 

“Sherlock!” John yelled as he pulled his hand from his face, “These are injured children! Innocent children!” And there it was, his migraine was now fully formed.

 

Mycroft was not even close to surprised by Sherlock’s response. The man despised children almost as much as himself but he had to agree with John that these were innocent children. 

 

“Indeed, Sherlock, these are innocent children,” Mycroft said softly, “and we can’t have a kidnapper willing to shoot children running about London with a politician’s teenage daughter.”

Sherlock glanced away from the skull to his brother and with his a strong glare he went off, “Have you at least checked the girl’s internet archives? Children of politicians rarely get the attention they so desperately crave and with the current generation of children and their dependence on social media sites and distinct lack of common sense and safety, they make themselves easy prey while begging for attention from strangers who offer a sympathetic ear.”

 

Mycroft opened his mouth to reply but stopped when the phone in his trouser pocket went off. Sherlock returned his skull to the mantel over the fireplace and patted it on the head like anyone else would do to a dog. John could only roll his eyes as Sherlock looked at him with a grin. He couldn’t understand how this man could possibly smile at the news of children being shot and kidnapped but he figured it had more to do with being a thorn in Mycroft’s side. He was just grateful they were in the privacy of their apartment so that he wouldn’t have to apologize for Sherlock’s behavior.

 

“It appears,” Mycroft mumbled as he looked up from his phone, “that you are absolutely right, Sherlock.”

 

The smile on Sherlock’s face grew, if that was even possible. He clapped his hands together and said, “Predictable. Purely and surely predictable. As for the poor unfortunate children, can I expect that they were found in a closet or other hiding place? Perhaps their sister had tried to hide them and that sympathetic ear from the internet probably arrived with a gun and assumed from the expected sounds children would make in such a pressured situation that they were not children but possibly parents or some other adult figure.”

 

“They were in a closet,” Mycroft replied slowly, knowing fully that he did nothing to tame his sibling’s ego by telling him he was correct in his assumptions. Sherlock waved at him, turning away in the process and swept dramatically into the kitchen. 

 

John looked up at Mycroft from his seat and asked, “Do we still need to go?” 

With a sigh, Mycroft looked into the kitchen at his brother. Sherlock had started to tinker with an experiment that neither he nor John cared to know about. It involved body parts that sweet and susceptible Molly Hooper, the head pathologist at St. Bart’s hospital had provided to him. Both men wished that Molly would stop being so generous to Sherlock when it came to the distribution of donated bodies and the parts they contained.   “No, I see there being no point now. Thank you, gentleman.”   Sherlock made a grunting noise and said without breaking his concentration from the work before him on the kitchen counter, “As I’ve told you before, do not ask for my assistance unless it is at the very least an eight. This was merely a four and I’m sure you’ll find your kidnapper soon enough. Men like him are not the least bit logical but they surely think they are. He probably believes the girl loves him when in fact she probably had grown attached to a horribly inaccurate and younger persona he created. He won’t take her to his home but he will try to leave the country at the very least. No need to tell you to keep an eye on the airports and ferries, I assume.”

 

“They have been under heavy surveillance upon realizing the daughter was missing. There was blood found at the scene that did not belong to the younger children. Any clue as to where he may possibly take her if she were wounded or worse? You seem to be doing an adequate job without having even seen a single clue or the scene itself,” Mycroft questioned casually.

 

John spoke up before Sherlock could and earned himself a cold glance, “Check the rivers, of course.”

 

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock grumbled, “but also check all of the hospitals in the city. As I said, he probably thinks they are in love. If she is in bad enough condition, he will feel compelled to seek medical attention but probably under a bad alias. Inform all the hospitals in an adequate radius to look for a girl matching her description and any wounds that seem consistent to the findings at the scene.”

 

John stood up from his seat and looked shortly at the two brothers and said, “Well, my opinion is of no use so I’m off to bed to sleep this bloody migraine off.”

 

“Perhaps, the naked girls on your laptop could ease your mind,” Sherlock called out as he heard the doctor’s footsteps on the creaking staircase to his room.

 

“Sod off.”

 

Mycroft smirked and announced, “With that, I believe it is time for me to go. Thank you for your help, brother, though you were only a few minutes ahead of our team. I will have to reserve my use of you for more pressing matters next time.”

 

“Understandable, but as you are aware, I had no need to waste my time combing for clues to determine the obvious.”

 

“As modest as ever. Good afternoon, Sherlock,” Mycroft chuckled. He headed for the door and was making his descent on the stairs as he saw Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock’s landlady. He knew his brother was quite fond of her though she sometimes found ways to pester Mycroft by hovering over conversations that she had no part of and by throwing in her own commentary during those times. He had been scolded for silencing rather rudely in the past and did his best to prevent it from happening again. It was more for preserving his image as a gentleman than anything else. Mrs. Hudson had said she had forgiven Mycroft but he knew she still harbored feelings of resentment.

 

Mrs. Hudson was at the front door and from his view near the top of the stairs, Mycroft could see over the old lady’s head to glance that she was speaking to a younger woman. He deduced she was in her late twenties to her early thirties. She had dark brown hair and olive skin to match to give her a very Mediterranean appearance. She had cheek bones that could rival his own brother’s but her’s contained a natural blush to them. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows, small amount of mascara, and a slightly tinted lip balm suggested she took care of herself but did not rely heavily on cosmetics to feel confident. He noted that she had every right to have confidence. He was not against noticing beautiful women for he was, after all, still human and still very much a man.

 

The woman’s posture denoted stress and he could just barely hear her ask if she was at the correct address to find Sherlock Holmes.

 

“Oh, Sherlock should be in. Perhaps you could wait for just a moment and I’ll see if he’s home,” Mrs. Hudson said and turned to look up the stairs, surprised to see Mycroft.

 

Mrs. Hudson gave Mycroft a strained smile and waved him toward herself and ordered him, “Dear, please stay here with Miss Messina while I go see if Sherlock is decent for a case.”

 

Mycroft was going to tell Mrs. Hudson that he was indeed decent but decided against it when the woman, now known as Miss Messina, locked eyes with him. They were the darkest eyes he had ever seen yet warm and comforting. He was not sure if there was any color to them. They were black as printer’s ink. Her full lips were parted slightly, taking in a small but surprised breath by the intense stare the well dressed man presented her with unintentionally. She felt like he was analyzing her. She could not have been anymore right.

 

“You are in need of my brother’s services, I presume?” Mycroft asked as Mrs. Hudson hustled past him. Miss Messina nodded slightly.

 

As he continued to slowly approach her he looked at her apparel. She wore a significantly worn pea coat in a color that almost reminded him of just barely dried blood. Brown from being out of the body but with just enough red in it to be fresh in a sense depending on the timeframe. It complimented her skin, which he could tell was a result of genetics more than of time spent sitting in the sun. It was the skin color most woman would crave for and spend time on the beach, in tanning beds, or trying to obtain from a bottle for. 

 

The next thing Mycroft noticed were the simple earrings Miss Messina had on. Gold posts with a fake diamond in each. Cubic zirconia, he guessed by the lack of abrasions that would usually don acrylic. He also registered her black jeans that were snug but not too tight to be tasteless. The pea coat was fitted at the waist and with that combined with the curves of her hips that the jeans flattered and despite their cries of a wardrobe budget, she was an impressive specimen to Mycroft. 

 

“Yes, I was told that he could help me,” was her simple response. Mycroft noted that she had an American accent. It caught him a bit off guard but he showed no signs of that. He did, however, make a comment about it.

 

She responded, “Yes, I’m American but I do live in London.”

 

Mycroft tried to offer a smile out of politeness but casual socialization was not his strong point. Though he was much better at it than his brother, he was still severally lacking in this department and since he normally conversed with the upper class who were more often than not men and high ranking public officials, he hardly knew how to have conversations that did not revolve on a specific job or task at hand.

 

Judging from the concerned look that donned Miss Messina’s face, he knew his smile was probably not as successfully executed as he had hoped. He let his lips fall into a serious and straight line. 

Mycroft wasn’t sure what he was doing. Was he trying to flirt with the woman? He did not ever go out of his way to converse, though he hardly considered sentences shared between them to be a conversation. No, he could not consider that flirting. Admitting to one’s self that a person of the opposite gender was attractive and simply trying to be polite did not mean he was aiming at seducing the poor thing. Besides, he was used to his very few attempts with women failing though it was not something he liked to dwell on and no one besides himself had ever been aware of it.

 

By no means was Mycroft Holmes a virgin. He had spent almost a decade in a relationship with a strong and fierce woman by the name of Genevieve Beckett-Parker, that he had met during his early years as an agent for the government when he was fresh out of university. It had been a long lasting relationship though they both led dangerous and spontaneous lives. They would go months without seeing one another or even having contact but their reunions were passionate to make up for lost time. It was not what most would consider an ideal relationship but it worked and it was more than Mycroft could ever ask for. Unfortunately, as time progressed and their reunions became even more infrequent than normal, her attention and affections were drawn elsewhere to another man in the battalion she was assigned to in Africa.  

Mycroft had dated but just barely after Genevieve had left his life. He didn’t blame the woman for leaving him but he did find it difficult to readjust after her departure. He did not care or crave for women on any form of a consistent basis. His dabbles at romance were fueled by only by short lived desires to bed a women that could match his intellect and hold his attention. He would bed them but they never satisfied him beyond physically. He retreated into his work and it had been years since he had tried again. He knew that this Miss Messina was a lovely woman but that was all.    “You, upstairs. Mycroft, go!” Sherlock ordered from the top of the stairs. His demanding tone broke the uncomfortable situation that Mycroft found himself in and he was thankful that while his thoughts went deep, they only took up a few moments of time. 

 

Mycroft looked up at his brother and rolled his eyes. He responded to his brother’s orders, “I was only keeping Miss Messina company until you fetched her. Trust me, I need no orders to leave.”

 

Miss Messina looked a bit insulted by his statement and he realized how it must have sounded to her when he did face her again. He lowered his head and began to offer an apology but she could not be bothered as she brushed past him and made her way up the stairs as Mrs. Hudson was just beginning to descend them. He watched the two squeeze past each other and then said, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson,” before he headed out the door of 221B Baker Street.


	2. Chapter 2

“You have precisely two and a half minutes to entertain me with a case worthy of my skill,” Sherlock informed Miss Messina as she unbuttoned her peacoat, giving view of a tight black turtleneck sweater with hints of gold weaved through the fibers. He was pacing in front of the fire place in an white oxford shirt with the top two buttons and his cuffs undone. Questionable material stained the edges of the cuffs but he could not be bothered. 

 

“And what is your name again?” Sherlock asked as he glanced over at the woman. He had to admit, she was a sight for sore eyes. He was getting bored with everyone looking the same in the city. He was aware she had Mediterranean blood but not sure at the moment of what specific location. Her eyes met with his as she said strongly, “Natalia Messina and I take it you’re not a very humble man, are you?”

 

A smirk graced Sherlock’s face as replied, “As I figured. Sicilian, correct? Italian name but skin too dark to be from the mainland but you’re American so your parents were immigrants.”

 

Natalia allowed a similar smirk to grow on her face that equalled his and said, “Well done, most people don’t differentiate between Italians and Sicilians.” There was a pause and she added, “Or Greeks for that matter. They think we’re all the same.”

 

“I’m not most people.”

 

“No, you most certainly are not and that’s why I’m here,” Natalia informed him as she dug into her pocket and pulled out a small USB drive. She held it up and spoke, “Do you remember the small bit of code Moriarty may or may not have had? The code that could unlock anything?”

 

Sherlock’s face paled more than it naturally was at the mention of the name and stared intently at her and then to the USB drive. The smirk on Natalia’s face fell to a stern look and she continued, “Glad to know you haven’t forgotten about Jim.”

 

A snarl fell from Sherlock’s lips as he stomped heavily toward the woman and snatched her hand, the skin soft underneath his rough and calloused hands as he used his other to pull the drive away and threw her hand back down. 

 

“How could you possibly have known about Moriarty?” Sherlock sneered as he examined the small piece of plastic and metal. He wanted to immediately put it in his computer and discover any secrets it could contain but he feared it may also contain a virus that could compromise his own work and files. Oh well, that was what John’s laptop was for. He hardly assumed that John would care if something happened to his laptop. The worst that would happen was that he’d lose his rather large collection of photos and pictures that “celebrated” the female body and all that it was capable of in less than romantic settings.

 

Natalia wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling a chill brought on by Sherlock’s rough behavior toward her. She shook her head as a stray hair feel over her face and replied, “He’s not dead, Mr. Holmes. He is very much alive and I need your help.”

 

Her voice was strong but Sherlock saw her pulsing racing in her neck, her pupils dilated in response to the fear she was trying to hide, and her hands were clenching tightly even though they were hidden underneath her arms. The veins and contractions of the muscles in her forearm gave that away too easily. 

 

“What is on this drive?” Sherlock asked, not looking away from her as he read her like a book. She looked at him with big dark eyes, “Proof.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“That he’s back and he’s coming after us. There’s no stopping him this time, Sherlock Holmes.”    
Natalia’s lip quivered for a moment and Sherlock discontinued his stare at her. He did not feel sympathy for her or the fear she contained . His own heart was pounding but it was more for the prospect of the chase and a new game than anything else.

 

“What does he want from you, Miss Messina? What could you possibly have done to make yourself a target?” Sherlock asked as he walked away from her toward the shelf that contained John’s laptop. He picked it up and was walking to his favorite chair as she replied, “I’m carrying his child.”

 

John’s laptop slipped from his hand and he heard the sound of breaking plastic but ignored it. He looked at her quickly and said in disgust, “What.”

 

It wasn’t a question. He had heard her. He understood her. He was fully aware of how babies were made and what was going on insider her body. He looked at her and suddenly the signs were there. A mildly ill fitting bra due to the beginnings of the swelling of her breasts causing lines to appear on her chest from the cup digging in. Her stomach was well hidden behind the coat she had been wearing and now with the black sweater. He began to pace around her to see the slight bulge at her stomach. The black and the reflection of the gold in the wool had done a splendid job of keeping her looking thin. Her nails and hair looked healthy though he assumed she must be on some type of supplement. She was glowing but he had mistaken that solely for her Sicilian genes.

 

“Four months along?” Sherlock asked, looking at the woman in disgust and intrigue at the same time. It made her uncomfortable but not as much as when Jim Moriarty would look at her.   “18 weeks to be more precise,” Natalia said softly, “and it’s a boy. That’s why he’s looking for me. There were others... they were carrying girls and he...”

 

A sob ripped it’s way out of Natalia’s mouth. Her hands flew to her hands as she began to cry. Sherlock stepped back. This was not his expertise.

 

“John!” Sherlock bellowed. A few moments of silence and Sherlock yelled for him again. He began to hear the sounds of John shuffling upstairs. He picked up John’s laptop and took into account the crack in the corner of the screen. He opened the laptop to see it was still functioning but he knew John would demand he fix it or replace it. He ignored that thought as he saw John appear at the bottom of the staircase that came from his room.

 

John yawned and glared at Sherlock but his face softened upon seeing Natalia standing in the middle of the room wiping tears from her face.

 

“Oh, Sherlock, you need to stop making clients cry,” John whined as he quickly approached Natalia and softly rested his hands on her shoulders, gently leading her to the couch. She allowed herself to be steered by John and upon sitting, was handed a small box of tissues. She gratefully accepted them as she tried to end her hysterics.

 

“Now then,” John said, glaring at Sherlock, “would you please explain to me what on Earth is going on and why you are making pretty young women cry?”

 

John hoped his comment of Natalia would make her smile but it didn’t and Sherlock merely stated, “You don’t what to hit on this one, John, she’s pregnant with Moriarty’s son.”

 

“What?” John gasped, looking confused. His eyebrows were pinched deep together as he tried to understand how a man dead for three years could be fathering a child. He didn’t even want to think about Moriarty after the hell and grief that he had caused. John was still have nightmares from watching Sherlock jump from the roof of St. Bart’s. Even though his death was faked and the truth came out a few short months later, the terror and stress caused by the entire ordeal had been enough to offer a return, though temporary, to his psychosomatic limp.

 

John opened his mouth several times to speak but no words came out as he simply couldn’t decide on what to say. Sherlock ignored him as he plugged the USB drive into John’s laptop and waited for the computer to recognize it.

 

Finally, John managed to speak, “I’m sorry but who are you?” He looked at Natalia. She had stopped crying but still sniffled. 

 

“That is Natalia Messina. Now, John,” Sherlock began to order as he refused to look away from John’s laptop, “she is going to need protection. As much as I’d hate to see my brother twice in the same day, I suggest you call him and tell him to prepare for company.”

 

John sighed and glanced at his phone and said, “No offense, but should we at least figure out a little more with what we’re dealing with before we call him. You know he’ll have questions and if we don’t have answers it’ll just mean he will be here even longer.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and was about to make a snark comment when the screen of the laptop went black. Sherlock yelled and began to smack at the keyboard.

“Sherlock, that’s my computer you’re beating!” John yelled and walked over to him, about to rip the laptop away when he saw the black screen flicker and an image appeared.

 

It was a crude animation of Jim Moriarty in a crown seated upon King Edward’s chair with various other Crown Jewels, no doubt an homage to his dramatically planned arrest three years ago. Beside him was a large character with a black hood on his face standing beside a guillotine.

 

“Off with your head!” Moriarty’s face yelled and a woman animated similarly to Moriarty appeared on the screen and the hooded man pulled a rope and the guillotine fell, decapitating the woman. Bright red splattered across the screen as the head rolled away.

 

The same scene repeated itself four more times as the two men watched in horror. Natalia watched the expression on their faces with confusion as she heard the audio from the laptop. She had no idea what they were watching but she could not mistake Moriarty’s voice and it sent shivers up and down her spine.

 

Finally, the music typically played at a wedding when the bride would walk down the isle began to play. Natalia’s face was on the screen looking serious and sad with the animated body wearing a white dress with a veil on her head. 

 

Laughter filled the speakers of the laptop and finally stopped after almost half a minute when Moriarty finally said, “Honey, I told you... you should see me in a crown.”

 

The screen went black and once again Sherlock began to hit the keys but only for a few moments before the computer began to spark and smoke. He quickly shoved the laptop onto the floor and watched as it continued to smoke. He then looked over to Natalia who looked scared beyond belief and said, “What the hell was that?”

 

“Yeah, that was my laptop!” John yelled, grabbing his coat off the hook by the door and waving it at his computer. It took a few moments before it stopped smoking. He carefully picked it up and carried it to the window in the kitchen, opening it and placing it on the fire escape. He came back into the living room and opened a window to let the smoke remaining escape.

 

“I-I... I don’t know. I swear I copied the files from his computer. I read them before I took them. Everything was there,” Natalia pleaded. She had no idea what they watched but she knew it wasn’t there when she transferred the files on the portable drive.

 

Sherlock glared at her and spoke, “Obviously, he had some protective measures put in place. Now tell me, Natalia, how did you come across our dear Jim?”

 

John was looking at her but not as coldly as Sherlock. She bit her lip nervously, any attempt at remaining strong and confident had vanished long ago. She was now at their mercy. She knew she shouldn’t have let her guard down. She had read the profile Moriarty kept on Sherlock but only glanced at John’s when she had been attempting to steal his file. There were notes on how to interact with Sherlock. Displaying any signs of weakness made dealing with him increasingly difficult and she was finding those notes in his file to be incredibly accurate. 

 

“I’m a paramedic. I picked you up outside of St. Bart’s after you jumped. I didn’t know you were alive. Dr. Hooper instructed my partner and I to get you when you fell, that’s why we were there so fast. I never realized it was planned,” Natalia began explaining. John squinted at her and tried to remember her face but he was in so much shock that day that all he could remember was Sherlock and the blood. His chested started to tighten and he began to shake.

 

Sherlock jumped from his seat and grabbed onto John’s shoulders, shaking the shorter man violently, “Don’t you dare go back there, John. I’m right here. I’m still alive and you know it was all an act.”

 

It took a few moments and John’s face relaxed. He blinked several times as his pupils began to constrict from the dilated state they had gone into. He went pale and Sherlock quickly lead him to the seat he had just vacated. He helped the doctor sit down and quickly went to the kitchen to start tea. It was only under moments like this when John would have episodes, whether they be from The Fall or from his time at war, that Sherlock would be accommodating enough to make tea.

 

Sherlock left the kettle on the flame of the stove and went back into the living room, “Tea is on, John, just relax. Continue Miss Messina.”

 

Natalia nodded, “I didn’t know what happened on the roof. Not originally. Jim found me, was sweet to me. I never put two and two together that he was the one in the papers that had broke into the Tower of London.”

 

“Of course, you didn’t,” Sherlock snidely remarked. Natalia blushed and lowered her head in shame, resting her hands on her belly. He frowned as he saw a slight shake in her hands.

 

Natalia did not lift her head again, “Jim’s been in my life for three years but only as a friend until almost six months ago.”

 

“Was it consensual?” Sherlock asked in a voice soft enough to even surprise himself. He guessed he knew when the best time to be a gentleman was, even if it was incredibly rare. Even Natalia looked a little surprised by the gentle tone he took and looked at him with pleading eyes.

 

The tea kettle began to whistle but Sherlock ignored it. He simply nodded, feeling a bit sick at the thought of the beautiful woman being ravaged by that animal. He knew Moriarty was disgusting with his lack of mercy and pure insanity but to include rape to the long list of his misdeeds was enough to make him loathe him tenfold.

 

Finally, Sherlock stood and went to the kitchen to pour tea for John. He decided as he poured the water, that he might as well make some for Natalia and himself. He frowned though when he realized that the tea was caffeinated and was therefore unacceptable to give to the pregnant woman. He opened a few cupboards but found nothing. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to Mrs. Hudson.

 

In need of any decaffeinated tea at your disposal for client. -SH   It only took a few moments before he heard the sounds of Mrs. Hudson moving downstairs. That settled, he brought the two mugs he had already poured out to the living room and held one out to the doctor who was now more responsive. He weakly thanked Sherlock, taking the hot mug in his hands and cherishing the warmth that radiated from it.

 

“Mrs. Hudson will be up shortly with decaffeinated tea. It is ill advised for expectant mothers to drink caffeine,” Sherlock stated when Natalia looked longingly at the mugs in the hands of the two men. She gave him a weak smile and nodded, once again rubbing her stomach slightly.

 

Natalia remained silent until Mrs. Hudson came up, all smiles on her face. Sherlock took the tea from her and thanked her with a brief peck to the cheek. The older woman looked at Natalia with a smile, impressed that Sherlock had made a special request for her sake. Now that she had a better look at Natalia without her coat she made a gasp and said, “My dear, you’re expecting! I didn’t realize!”

 

Natalia faked a smile and nodded, “Yes, I am. It’s ok, the coat hides it.”   Sherlock poured a cup of tea for Natalia with the new tea and came back out with the mug and delivered it to her. She thanked him kindly and Mrs. Hudson made a small but happy gasp. Sherlock looked at her sternly and asked, “Privacy, Mrs. Hudson, if you wouldn’t mind?”

 

“Of course, dear, of course!” she exclaimed, “Would you lovely client care for something to eat though? Lord knows you boys hardly keep anything edible here an the poor girl is eating for two!” Sherlock looked to Natalia and she nodded timidly, she was very hungry. Not even noticing John in his weak state, Mrs. Hudson quickly exited the apartment and returned to 221A to prepare food.   “She’s a lovely lady,” Natalia commented as Sherlock went to sit in his chair, reclaiming his tea and blowing on it before taking a sip of the hot liquid.

 

Natalia looked around for a moment at the messy apartment. Stacks of files and paperwork covered all surfaces of room. A skull sat on the mantel over the fireplace and bullet holes around the room made her feel a bit unsettled. There were questionable things in jars sitting haphazardly on near tumbling piles of papers and boxes. She didn’t need Moriarty’s files to know that Sherlock was beyond eccentric. 

 

“You’re no longer a paramedic, I take, with the child on the way?” Sherlock asked, breaking the silence in the room. She looked at him and shook her head, “I am, they have me on light duties. I don’t do any lifting, mostly just wheelchair transports around the city.”

 

Sherlock nodded and asked, “Moriarty doesn’t keep you restricted?”

 

Without hesitation, Natalia rolled her sleeve up to show a wound on the inside of her forearm. It was a few days old but looked like it was being cared for properly. He frowned and looked at her questioningly.

 

“He put a chip in my arm. I removed it a few days ago so that I could find you. I hid around the city to make sure he wouldn’t be able to find me before I came here,” the woman explained. Sherlock got up from his seat and glided quickly over to her and took the arm into his hands, running his thumb along the edges of the wound. It appeared that the chip had been significantly deep but not deep enough that she damaged any major parts of her anatomy but she also had sufficient knowledge from her line of work to know what she was doing, even if surgical extraction was not a duty assigned to paramedics.

 

“The first time we... he drugged me. That’s when he implanted it. I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore but he got mad,” she ended with a whisper and Sherlock finished, “I know what he’s like when he’s mad.”

 

John finally felt strong enough to get out of his chair and walked over tot he two. He had been listening intently and took a quick look at the healing incision on Natalia’s forearm. It didn’t appear inflamed or infected so he made no remarks to it.

 

“So, Moriarty is now terrorizing the world with domestic violence?” John asked. 

 

“He’s killing women. Using them to produce an heir to his network. There was a man, Moran, that he had follow me often. He told me once that I’m the first to be carrying a boy and that was what has been keeping me alive,” Natalia explained.

 

Sherlock froze, his eyes went wide and his pupils dilated. 

 

“Oh!”

 

Natalia looked at him questioningly but John merely rolled his eyes and said, “He gets like this when he’s had a breakthrough.”

 

Natalia nodded in hesitant understanding, pulling her arm gently from Sherlock’s lift hold. He jumped up and yelled again, “Oh!”

 

Before John could ask what was going on in his brain Sherlock said, “Henry the 8th!”

 

John’s eyebrows pinched together again as he looked confused at his partner. Sherlock smirked and spoke rapidly, “The animation on the computer. That was him as Henry the 8th. Desperate for a son, he killed the wives that miscarried or could not produce a son; an heir. He had six wives, John, and there were five beheaded women. Miss Messina was the sixth. She is the final one and she is carrying his heir, that’s why she is alive right now. He knew she’d come here all along, regardless of the chip being removed. He was taunting me when he said I should see him in a crown. He said those words to me before.”

 

“But Sherlock, this is all small scale for Moriarty. There has to be more involved than just this,” John mentioned. Sherlock glanced at him from the corner of his eye and said, “You’re absolutely right, but what? What could he possibly have planned besides this?”

 

“I don’t know, Sherlock, but I think now is a good time to give Mycroft that call,” John said hesitantly. He never liked talking about Mycroft in front of Sherlock. The name always made Sherlock just a tad moodier than he tended to be.

 

Sherlock sighed with annoyance and muttered, “Very well! It just started getting interesting, even if her two and a half minutes are up.”


	3. Chapter 3

It only took the mention of Jim Moriarty’s name for Mycroft Holmes to go from annoyed to fully attentive. The call he received from John left him with his heart racing as he had flashbacks of the disasters he caused only a few short years ago. It also brought back immense feelings of guilt due to the fact that he was responsible for letting the consulting criminal out of his custody and giving him precious information about his brother that he used to turn London upside down.

 

“Anthea, it appears Mr. Moriarty has returned from the dead. Please put the planned procedures into affect. I need to pick up a package from my brother’s possession,” Mycroft said firmly to his assistant and protege.

 

Anthea was what she liked to call ‘fun-sized’ but she packed a powerful punch. She had been training under Mycroft since she was thirteen. His department only took on very special prospects at such a young age and they were strongly based on circumstance. Anthea had lost both her parents and was arrested on the scene of a drug bust. The young girl had found her way into a rather large drug network and managed to steal rather significant quantities of money as well as destroy equally valuable amounts of drugs. She was smart and resourceful. When she had been found, one of Mycroft’s agents working within the the police force felt she had something that would intrigue his employer. The agent was incredibly right.

 

Though Anthea had grown up under Mycroft’s supervision and guidance for twenty years, their relationship was based strictly on work followed only sometimes by friendship. He was incredibly proud of her and imagined the sentimentalists would expect he felt a more emotional attachment to her as if she were family but that was not the case and Anthea felt exactly the same in the matter.

 

Anthea nodded upon receiving her instructions from Mycroft and began to tap away at her always present phone. She had always been more fond of texting and it was this trait that had actually saved their organization on several occasions. Anthea had been stuck in compromising situations previously and her phone had been stolen and attempted to be used in various schemes, the culprits attempting to assume her identity. All it took were the phone calls they made to make all of her normal contacts suspicious. They knew Anthea did not call.

 

After putting all of the necessary plans into action, Anthea left Mycroft at his office while he pulled his jacket on to go to her own office. She sat at her computer and pulled up surveillance footage of St. Bart’s but more specifically, the morgue. 

 

Security detail on Dr. Molly Hooper had been increased significantly since The Fall since it became aware to the organization that she played a rather significant part in Sherlock’s faked death. Anthea smiled when she saw Molly working on the laboratory floor. She had the volume muted but she knew Molly was listening to music and dancing rather enthusiastically from one microscope to the next.

 

Molly was only vaguely aware of her security level with Mycroft and his ‘minor’ position in the British government. John had allowed some information about Mycroft to slip one night when they went to the bar while Sherlock was still presumed to be dead. It broke Molly’s heart when she was more than aware of Sherlock’s survival but was playing the supportive role to his grieving friend. 

 

Anthea adored Molly Hooper and after The Fall, enjoyed her company so much that they became very close friends. Mycroft was rather annoyed at the concept of their friendship. He felt that sentiments would only compromise them both but he guessed that was what happened when he left Anthea in charge of Molly’s security. 

 

Anthea felt a bit sorry for Molly after all the hell and grief she encountered before, during, and after Sherlock’s death and resurrection. She felt the cheerful pathologist was an exceptional person and more than saintly for dealing with Mycroft’s sibling. Molly felt similarly towards Anthea but she felt that it would be more stressful working for Mycroft. Though both siblings held a cloud of anxiety and stress around them, they were of different kinds and so they felt their work was equally cut out for them. The only difference was that Molly was deeply in love with her own Holmes brother and Anthea was not. 

 

After laughing at Molly’s expense for a few moments, Anthea picked up her phone and texted the pathologist. Her smile fell due to the serious nature of the text though and felt guilty for ruining her carefree shift.

 

_Dr. Hooper, I regret to inform you that your dance party is at an end. Agent Stephens will be at the morgue entrance in approximately 10 minutes. Please be ready to leave with him and contact me if anyone enters the morgue. Discretion is of the utmost importance. -Anthea_

Molly looked at her phone on the counter as it vibrated. Anthea watched her pick it up and read the message carefully. Her carefree attitude washed away instantly and the sudden straightness of her back was all the proof Anthea needed that she understood the seriousness of the matter. She was mildly impressed that Molly wasn’t looking around to question how Anthea knew about her dancing. She was a smart girl and was probably aware that she had always been under surveillance but didn’t let that stop her from her goofy nature when she was alone.

 

Anthea returned her attention to her phone as she texted with various agents. Everything was going smoothly. She returned her gaze to the screen momentarily and saw the agent she sent walking into the hospital. She looked to the videos of the morgue and scrunched her face in concentration as she tried to find Molly. Her labcoat was hanging on a hook outside of her office. There were small objects scattered along the floor.

 

It took just the tap of a few keys for Anthea to get the camera to zoom in on the area. She saw what looked like a set of keys, a tube of lipstick, and a few tampons. All common contents of a woman’s purse, she told herself. She doubled checked all of the camera’s including from the surrounding levels and hallways outside of the morgue but did not see a trace of Molly. She went back to the screen of the hallway toward the morgue and could see Agent Stevens almost reaching the door.

 

Something didn’t feel right to Anthea and she picked up her phone to text the agent but instead let out a sudden gasp, dropping her phone, as the man opened the door and was met with an explosion. She quickly grabbed her phone again and punched the texts to all the agents she could first before contacting Mycroft. He’d be more upset over a delay in action than not being contacted first. 

 

Anthea remained composed as her phone vibrated constantly as she received numerous texts, responding as fast as they were coming in. Though she appeared calm, her heart was racing and she suddenly felt immense amounts of guilt for not paying closer attention to the screen or texting Agent Stevens sooner.

 

The smoke, dust, and debris at the morgue entrance settled as Anthea commanded the numerous forces under the non-existent branch of government, at least on paper, and she finally looked up at the screen and frowned more than she already had been as she saw what looked like a limb laying by itself on the destroyed floor. 

 

When her phone had calmed down enough, Anthea rewinded the morgue footage, trying to discover what had happened to the tiny pathologist. The terrible feelings building up inside of her doubled when she saw a man that she had only ever seen in a classified folder.   “Sebastian Moran.”


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft left his office briskly, passing Anthea’s office and seeing her staring intently at the large monitor at her desk. He felt confident in her ability to complete the tasks he had assigned to her and to accommodate any situations that could arise. He trained her well and she was the only person that he could say that about regardless of the other loyal members of his staff.

 

Instead of heading straight to the parking garage, Mycroft made a detour down a small hallway that looked like nothing more than maintenance and utility quarters. The sounds of the building’s central air unit could be heard, filling his ears with a dull roar. 

 

After passing several doors, Mycroft stood in front of the a dinged and rusting door with a small sign bolted to the metal reading “Janitorial Services” in chipped letters. He turned the cold handle on the door and pushed it open. Sitting on two stools in the small room were two agents, fully dressed in tactical gear. Mycroft could see his reflection on the polished face shield attached to the helmet of the guard closest to him as they both stood instantly at attention. 

 

“At ease, gentleman,” Mycroft said calmly but they stood as still and solid as statues. He smirked to himself and stepped forward to the unimpressive row of lockers that lined the back of the room. There were six in total and Mycroft went to the the third from the left one and thumbed the padlock that hung from it. It only took a few moments and the lock clicked open. He removed his thumb from the hidden fingerprint scanner and opened the locker.

 

Several large firearms were resting in the locker but Mycroft ignored them as he reached to the top shelf. His fingers wrapped around a velvet sack and he pulled it out carefully. He pulled at the soft threads that kept the pouch closed and dipped his hand into it.

 

The metal was cold on Mycroft’s skin and it felt good to have something familiar in his grasp. It had been a long time since he had needed to carry the small firearm and while he wasn’t sure of what Moriarty’s intentions were this time around, he wanted to be fully prepared. He was used to having agents around him to handle any of the dirty work which was one of the benefits as well as one of the bores of having moved quite high in the ranks of the organization.

 

With a few clicks and swift hands, Mycroft slid the clip from the gun. Seeing he had adequate ammunition, he slid it back into the gun. He reached overhead again and pulled down the black leather holster that belonged to the weapon and hung it from a hook attached to the inside of the locker door. He held the gun out to his side in his right hand and the guard only a few feet away quickly took it from him. He shrugged his shoulders and slipped out of his suit jacket and held it to his left. The other guard, as quick as the first, took it in silence.

 

With a methodic sigh, Mycroft removed the holster from the hook and slipped his left arm into the leather strap first, letting the stiff pouch for the gun settle into its familiar place. His right arm slid smoothly through the other loop. It was still perfectly fitted to his body regardless of the fact that he did not contain the same physique he had several years ago.

 

Mycroft closed the locker and refastened the lock and turned around slowly. His held his hand out and the guard with the gun placed it gently in his hand. His finger’s curled around the grip and he double checked the safety before securing it in the holster. He held his other hand out and the guard returned his suit jacket to him. He slipped into it quickly and said, “Your assistance has been greatly appreciated.”

 

Without another word, Mycroft straightened his already near perfect posture and walked confidently out of the room, closing the door behind him as he left. He felt more sure of himself with the firm weight rubbing against his side as he walked.

 

The walk to the parking garage was uneventful and he spent the short walk gathering his thoughts. What his brother and John had said to him on the phone, though brief, did keep him more alert than he constantly was. It took a lot of effort and energy to remain and collected regardless of the situation. He was going to need a fix of caffeine and as he waited for the elevator to arrive, he sent a text to Carson, the man in charge of supplying cars and drivers as needed for the entire organization.

 

_Have driver present in 3 minutes with coffee at Level B garage. Cream, no sugar. -M. Holmes_

 

Maybe three minutes was a little demanding but Mycroft smiled to himself anyways. He liked to challenge all those that worked underneath him. Even in what seemed like the most mundane or pointless tasks, or even the most insignificant, he could reward them at times if they proved them selves crafty and resourceful. Anthea had proven herself time and time again. Her record for presenting him with successful results was near flawless.

 

His phone vibrated as the elevator dinged and the door opened. He was surprised as he looked up at his phone for a moment to see an agent, containing a lower security clearance as indicated by the number of stars sewed on his sleeve, leaning casually against the back wall of the elevator.

 

Mycroft looked at him suspiciously as he pocketed his phone and rested his hands on his hips and sternly ordered him, “Identify yourself.”

 

A sick grin spread across the young man’s face. His smile was unsettling and Mycroft couldn’t stop staring at the gap between his two front teeth and the way he was pushing his tongue to it. His hand moved slowly to the weapon he had only just armed himself with but used his jacket to keep his actions hidden.

 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr. Holmes,” the man said with a thick Irish accent. He lifted his hand and tugged the black cadet cap he had been wearing off his head to display his fiery red hair with a small spot of light blonde hair, a birth mark of sorts. He played with his for a moment, still resting his shoulders against the wall with a bent knee and a heavy boot resting on it as well. 

 

Mycroft froze with his hand on the clasp of the holster. He was more than confident he could whip the gun out without giving the man even a second to register what was happening but he refrained, knowing he was about to gain information of some type.

 

The elevator door began to close and Mycroft caught it quickly with his hand and pushed it open. Once again, Mycroft said, “Identify. Yourself.” This time, his words were bolder and individual and it made the smile on the man’s face grow even larger. He chuckled at the older gentleman before him and said, “The name is Jonathan. Jonathan Moran. You don’t me know me but you very well know my father.”

 

“Sebastain,” Mycroft said boldly before asking, “What does he want?”

 

Jonathan’s grin fell into a more serious line and he responded with a tone that Mycroft felt was unsettling, “It’s not him that wants anything. It’s the man holding the leash and I’m sure you know exactly who I’m talking about.”

 

Mycroft dropped his hand away from the holster but rested it once again on his hips, “I’m fully aware that Jim Moriarty is not dead, Mr. Moran.”

 

“Oh,” Jonathan moaned, looking offended, “Mr. Moran is my father, darling. I think we are going to be close friends so just call me Jonathan.”

 

Mycroft snorted, “If you believe that you and I could ever be friends, you are sadly mistaken.”

 

“Dear me, Mr. Holmes, I’m sorry to hear that. It’ll make it all that much easier for me to kill you,” Jonathan spoke, ending with a chuckle as Mycroft moved his hand quickly for the gun and had it pointed at him impressively fast. 

 

His bright green eyes rolled sarcastically before Jonathan laughed, pushing himself off the wall. He held his hands up in surrender but his composure was still relaxed.

 

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Holmes, I’m not ready to kill you and you won’t kill me. I may be the son of a demon but I was raised by the devil that controls him.”

 

Before Mycroft had a moment to react, sirens in the building sounded and the lights went out in the hallway. The elevator was still set to work even when the building went into lockdown and as his eyes adjusted to the dark hallway and the bright light from the elevator contrasting in his view, Jonathan pressed a button on the wall and the doors closed.

 

Mycroft punched the button on the wall before him but the elevator already began its descent. The emergency lights began to glow, getting brighter slowly as if they were awoken from a deep sleep. He began to ran the few yards, tucking his firearm into the back waistband of his pants, to the stairwell door. He hoped he could have enough time to beat the elevator though he knew that it was a long shot, even if he were in better physical condition. 

 

It became easier to simply jump the bottom half of each flight of stairs as he worked his way down the building, listening to the sounds of the elevator rumbling in the stairwell to determine what level the assassin's son would exit.

 

His chest was burning from the physical exertion and his shins were screaming from each impact as he jumped. He momentarily thanked a higher power that his brother could not see him now for he would surely never stop tormenting him about his weight, regardless of the fact that he was 42 years old and no longer a spry young man.

 

At ground level, eight levels from where the chase had started, the elevator stopped and Mycroft pushed the heavy door with as much force as he could muster, ignoring his sweaty hands sliding on the beautifully cold surface of it. He pulled his gun from his waistband and held it up as he approached the opening doors of the elevator. 

 

Mycroft’s jaw dropped in disbelief as he stared at the empty elevator. He peeled his now sweaty jacket off and threw it angrily on the ground before grabbing his phone and punching away at it ferociously and mercilessly with his thumbs.


	5. Chapter 5

Anthea had over-rewinded the video from the surveillance of the morgue at St. Bart’s. When she had caught up to just before the event leading up to Molly Hooper’s disappearance, she had paused upon spotting Sebastian Moran stepping out of the shadows by the body lockers where the emergency exit was. She whispered his name aloud in surprise, barely recognizing his aged face from the photo stapled in his classified folder kept among the files of other notorious criminals.

 

Molly had been hanging up her lab coat on the hook right outside her office, her back to the assassin. Anthea took a deep breath and hit play, scared for the tiny woman and what was going to happen to her.

 

Anthea watched as Molly took her purse off the hook adjacent to her lab coat and then her jacket off the the last one. She paused for a moment, looking concerned. She placed her jacket on the counter near her and started to rummage through her purse. Anthea couldn’t make out what was in Molly’s hand as she retracted it from the large bag. She let her arm drop to her side with the purse in hand and watched her pocket the mysterious item with her other hand.

 

As Molly went to reach for her jacket, Sebastian moved quickly and Anthea assumed with deadly silence since the pathologist seemed unaware. He struck fast, grabbed her purse and using it swing her around to face him.

 

Molly seemed to freeze but only for a moment and Anthea felt sick to her stomach. Regardless of how fearless and emotionless she was trained to be, Molly was her only friend after Mycroft. She loved her like the sister she had never had. If Mycroft could have an anxiety attack from the countless overdoses his younger brother had fallen into in the past, Anthea could bite her nails for a few moments for Molly Hooper.

 

What happened next surprised Anthea more than anything she had ever seen before. As Molly faced her attacker and pulled on her purse to keep her distance but also the tension between them, she kicked her right leg in the air. Her foot clearly missed the man by at least a foot but she pivoted and spun, the short limb passing over Sebastian’s arms and placing his hands and the purse between her legs and causing him to bend down close enough that he could kiss the top of her head.

 

Without hesitation, Molly cracked her head backwards hard and fast, connecting strongly with the man’s face. He let go of the purse and Molly stumbled forward, also releasing her grasp on the bag and letting it and it’s contents spill across the floor. She turned around quickly and pulled the unknown item from a few moments earlier from her pocket and pointed it at Sebastian’s face as he cradled his nose; Anthea could see the blood between his fingers.

 

Anthea realized Molly was armed with pepper spray and silently cheered as she sprayed the man and saw his face distort into pure agony. She took that moment to run past the intruder to exit from the emergency door that he had used to get into the morgue.

 

It took only took a few moments for Sebastian to get himself put together enough to realize he had lost Molly and that he needed to get out of the morgue and quickly. He ran out the emergency exit as well.

 

The morgue was still until the explosion and as upset as Anthea was that they had lost a great agent, she felt better knowing that Molly had fought back and was possibly safe. She had switched to the street cameras but couldn’t find Molly anywhere. It took a few more minutes but Anthea had finally spotted Sebastian in a vehicle and from the looks of it, he did not have his target with him. A flutter of hope grew within Anthea and she quickly grabbed her phone and called the one person that Molly would cooperate most with if he went looking for her.

 

“Anthea, I’m surprised your calling,” Sherlock said as he answered the phone with no surprise or question in his voice even though the number came up as blocked. Anthea would have typically made a sly remark but was more concerned about the task at hand and refused to duel with him. She hated speaking on the phone but she needed to make sure her urgent demands were relayed quickly.

 

With only a slight pause she spoke firmly and straight forward, “Sherlock, Moran was spotted at the morgue. He attacked Molly but it looks like she escaped. I need to you to head towards St. Bart’s and find her before Moran does.”

 

“What?” Sherlock hissed, “How dare he attack my pathologist!”

 

“Sherlock,” Anthea barked, “you need to find her!”

 

“I’ll take a cab with John and we’ll start looking straight away. Have you tried calling her?” Sherlock asked as he pinched the phone between his ear and shoulder and walked across the sitting room to grab his jacket.

 

Natalia was downstairs being fed by Mrs. Hudson and John was putting dirty mugs into the sink, listening as Sherlock spoke to Anthea. He figured the dishes would have to wait judging by his partner’s tone and turned around to see Sherlock with his jacket on and already heading out the door. He rolled his eyes and ran out into the sitting room and threw on his own jacket while walking out the door of the apartment.

 

“Not yet, I was worried her phone might compromise her. I’ll send her a discrete text in case Moran has her phone,” Anthea answered Sherlock’s question. She paused for a moment and then asked, “Hasn’t Mycroft gotten there yet?”

 

“You expect that cow to rush?” Sherlock said bitterly as he pushed the front door of the building open and stepped out into the winter air with John behind him. He began waving his hand for a taxi as he descended the few steps. 

 

Anthea rolled her eyes, “This isn’t the time for that, Sherlock. I’ll have to get a hold of him, too. Is Natalia with you?”

 

Without warning, the lights in the office as well as the hallway went out and the sirens in the building sounded loudly. She was silently grateful for the separate power source that ran the electronics in the offices of those with higher levels of clearance. If the computer had shut off, she would be a very angry woman.

 

Sherlock also rolled his eyes at both Anthea as well as the offending noise and said, “She’s with Mrs. Hudson. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Anthea, I need to find my pathologist.” A few moments later the line went dead as Anthea or Sherlock hung up the phone. She tried to pull up surveillance on the building but the night vision wasn’t switching on within the cameras. 

 

Only a few minutes later did Anthea’s phone vibrate whilst ignoring the building for a moment to search the streets of London for a sign of the pathologist. She had already sent a quick text to the IT department to determine the cause of the camera malfunctions in the building. It was a text from Mycroft on her screen that read:

 

_Search Level 8 surveillance for past 10 minutes at elevator bank B. Back track to find out where intruder came from and went to. Heading to Baker Street for Miss Messina. -M. Holmes_

 

Anthea was confused for a moment, not sure why Mycroft was apparently still in the building but did as he asked and pulled up the surveillance footage for Level 8, the floor they were on, and rewinded it until she saw Mycroft standing before the open elevator doors, an obvious confrontation with a young man. The timing matched up with the sound of the alarms. It would take too much time to search the whole building’s cameras to find the culprit for triggering the alarm.

 

It didn’t take long before the distracting alarm had been silenced and the lights turned on. Her eyes wincing slightly from the sudden affect on her pupils as they adjusted. 

 

With a tap of a few keys, the sound was added and she was able to hear the altercation between Mycroft and the newly identified Jonathan Moran. She paused on a decent still of his face and printed it, running background checks on a separate window while also trying to determine how the assassin’s son had gained access into the building. She only found that a trail of static and white noise overtook the video as soon as he was in view save for his interaction with Mycroft. She wasn’t able to find a source for his admittance.

 

With a groan of annoyance to accompany her findings, she texted Mycroft:

 

_Running searches on Jonathan Moran. No footage available to identify entry. Possibility of compromised cameras or inside help. -Anthea_

 

Her phone vibrated faster than she expected but it was short and to the point and lacked his tag at the end.

 

_Find the traitor._


	6. Chapter 6

“I’ll go six block in this direction, you go six blocks in the other. Hang a left and...” John began to command Sherlock after exiting the cab that John, as always, was left to pay for. His military training was present in his voice but Sherlock couldn’t be bothered to pretend to care what he was saying.

 

Without a word, Sherlock went off in the direction of his own choosing. John blinked almost stupidly as he stood on the street curb and watched him, mouth open in mid speech. As used to Sherlock’s antics as he was, John still felt incredibly insulted by his arrogance. What he didn’t realize was that Sherlock was quietly imagining a rather unpleasant number of terrifying scenarios involving the fate of Molly Hooper. To be expected to stay still for a moment, especially to listen to some generic plan, seemed pointless and counterproductive. 

 

Sherlock stopped at the street corner and looked around. It had been at least 45 minutes since Molly had gone missing. Anthea sent details through text messages during their cab ride of the events involving her escape. They had exited the vehicle a few blocks away in case of the likelihood of there being unfriendly parties with the same target of interest.

 

John swallowed his annoyance and followed after Sherlock. As he paused at the corner to stand along the taller man, he looked around and couldn’t understand what Sherlock could be seeing but he saw the wheels turning. 

 

After several moments of nothing but the sound of the cars and people on the busy street Sherlock looked to John and said, “It was near rush hour when Molly escaped. The traffic and pedestrians would be walking primarily in that direction.” He pointed across the street, “It’s a Friday so obviously these yuppies would be yearning for a happy hour drink with the coworkers they probably have more than professional relations with.”

 

“What’s this have to do with Molly?” John asked, scratching his head and trying as hard as he could to think on Sherlock’s level. He sometimes hated himself for not being as clever but then he remembered the ways he overshadowed Sherlock on things besides intellect and observation. For instance, his success in relationships as he was on the verge of hopefully becoming an engaged man.

 

John Watson had been searching for weeks for the perfect ring to offer to his girlfriend of only a few short but mind-blowing and perfect months. He had never felt as connected to a partner has he had and her name was Mary Morstan. He wasn’t afraid to tell anyone how madly in love he was with her. If asked, she would gladly and honestly confess to the same exact sentiments and he knew it. He had been lonely long enough, regardless of his countless flings and short-term relationships. He deserved this bit of happiness and the only thing that was standing in his way was Sherlock Holmes. It wasn’t necessarily the man but the process involved in breaking the news to him that with the expected successful proposal and the following nuptials, that he would be changing his place of residence to a location that was not 221B Baker Street but elsewhere and with Mary. 

 

If having a relationship and actually being able to simply relate to another person, and not in the way that the two men related to one another as it was quite unusual, was something that John could do that Sherlock couldn’t than he would take it for all it was worth. He didn’t wish for Sherlock to be lonely. He would be beyond ecstatic to see the clever man find someone to be happy with in some form of normalcy.

 

Sherlock pulled John away from his thoughts and replied to his question, “Molly was trying to escape. She obviously didn’t want to be seen. She would have easily stuck out if she were going against the general flow of the streets. If they were heading to the pubs, I can almost guarantee that is where we’ll find her. ”

 

“You really think Molly would hide in a pub of all places?” John asked skeptically. Sherlock didn’t reply and without even waiting for the lights to change, began to walk across the street. It was common for Sherlock to ignore the general basics of street crossing. He couldn’t be bothered to look to see if a car was coming but he _usually_ managed to get across without harm to himself.

 

It didn’t take long, only a few minutes of brisk walking, to reach the small hub of the city that housed some of the more popular pubs and clubs. Sherlock looked at them all with a fleeting glance and then turned to John, “What does Molly like?”

 

“You,” John blurted out and was met with a rather angry face. He chuckled and said, “Sorry, how about you be more specific, eh?”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and quickly adjusted the dark blue scarf on his neck before speaking, “She likes pink and pretty things, right? What kind of place would you think that that a soft girl like Molly Hooper would be most likely to frequent by going off the face value of these impromptu brothels?”

 

It was John’s turn to roll his eyes but he bit his tongue to keep from making a remark that would only annoy Sherlock further and most likely lead to childish quarreling. He didn’t want to waste time with Molly missing with an assassin after her and also that it was getting quite dark out.

 

He looked around for a few moments, looking at the general outward appearance of the pubs. Most of them clearly catered to more masculine clientele. He knew Molly would feel too threatened to enter places like those. He squinted his eyes as he spotted a bar further down the street with pink neon lights and what looked like a cat on the hanging side over the sidewalk. He couldn’t make out the name but the pink glow the lights cast on the street screamed the tiny pathologists name to him.

 

“That one,” John stated boldly, pointing down the road. Sherlock smiled as he saw the pink and said, “Brilliant observation, John.”

 

The doctor’s cheeks burned red and he found himself smiling like a small child. He knew that it was silly to feel that way when his friend complimented him but it was moments like that that he felt like his humanity had rubbed off on the cold and off-putting detective.

 

They walked quickly to the pub and as they got closer, John could begin to make out the word’s on the sign he had saw. He gulped nervously when he finally made out the name.

 

“The Pussy’s Den,” John read uncomfortably. Sherlock seemed oblivious to the suggestion he was trying to make. Apparently, Sherlock didn’t know what the upside triangles on the sign represented because he didn’t hesitate to burst into the pub.

 

John imagined an uncomfortable seen like a movie with the two men bursting into a bar full of lesbian women causing everything to come to a screeching halt and leaving them to be stared at like they were dressed in some ridiculous getup and singing opera. He was gratefully surprised to find that it was packed and no one seemed to bother or care that there were two men in the pub. In fact, there were several other men and while John could care less about their sexuality, they were as easily uninteresting as the duo.

 

“Let’s split up!” Sherlock yelled over the loud music playing in the pub. John had just barely heard him but nodded his head and the two split up. It was easily for him to keep tabs on Sherlock because he towered over everyone. He didn’t want to lose track of him in case something did happen.

 

It was a bit difficult to weave through the crowd. John was already wearing portions of several patron’s drinks due to his lack of grace in this situation. He tried his best to stay focused, even upon spotting an attractive pair of women kissing passionately in the corner of the pub. He knew he shouldn’t have been interested but he was after all a typical man in some ways. He did manage to look away and continue looking, his body rubbing uncomfortably against people as he tried to squeeze his way through.

 

It had been nearly five minutes of searching and he was starting to get a bit dizzy from the claustrophobia the overfilled pub caused. There was smoke filling the room despite the fact that it was illegal to do so in pubs and had been for several years. Those two factors mixed in with the pounding music was causing his earlier migraine to return with a vengeance. He couldn’t really believe all that had happened today. Late that morning he was yelling at Sherlock for not caring about children, then he was dealing with Natalia carrying the spawn of Satan, and now he was looking for poor Molly Hooper to spare her from being killed or worse. There was no way for him to pinpoint anymore when his life became so chaotic. 

 

John ran the back of his hand over his forehead to wipe at the accumulation of sweat that had settled there. He looked up and around but couldn’t see Sherlock anywhere. He frowned to himself and was about to head toward the door to see if he had gone outside when he saw her.

 

Not far from the kissing couple he had saw earlier was Molly Hooper sitting timidly on a bar stool. There was a woman speaking to her, leaning in and running a finger in her hair before catching the lock at the end and twirling it around her red polished fingertip. 

 

John became alert and forgot about his migraine as he started to move toward her direction. He was only a few feet from her when he was shoved roughly and with a blur of black going past him, he fought to keep his balance. When he settled and looked at her again, he saw that it was Sherlock.

 

Sherlock grabbed the interested female that was speaking to Molly by the wrist and leaned in close to her face. John took a few steps forward and gasped when he saw it was none other than another person he had spent a long time thinking was dead.

 

“What on earth do you think you’re doing, Woman?” Sherlock snarled and John could just barely hear him. He looked past the two to see Molly sitting quietly and as pale as a ghost. He made his way around Sherlock and went up to her. She gave him a meek smile and he quickly opened his arms to her, realizing it was really the only gesture that could make someone in her position feel a little bit better. She quickly pushed off the stool and wrapped her arms around John’s waist and hugged him tightly.

 

The embrace lasted for only a few short seconds before Sherlock drew his attention away from The Woman and grabbed Molly by her shoulders. He pulled her away from John and turned her around so that she faced him.

 

“Molly Hooper, are you ok? Has The Woman done anything to you? Are you hurt?” He rattled off questions that left Molly not knowing where to start. She didn’t feel like she had the energy to get her voice to carry over the activity in the pub. She was still getting over having Irene Adler present herself cooly with her opening line, “Well, hello, you pretty little thing. Weren’t you the one who performed my autopsy a few years ago?”

 

John put his hand on Sherlock’s arm and said in his ear, “Shoot a text to Anthea and let’s get her out of her, ok?”

 

“You’re not taking my new toy away, are you?” Irene purred as she ran a hand on John’s shoulder. He shrugged her off and said boldly over the music, “Perhaps you were better off playing dead.”

 

The Woman pouted and leaned close and said, “Don’t be so cruel, Dr. Watson, I’m on your side now.”


	7. Chapter 7

Mycroft knocked on the door of 221B Baker Street. It took only a small wait as he heard movement inside before the door opened and before him stood Mrs. Hudson. She frowned at him but quickly changed her expression to one of ambivalence. She thought she could pretend that she didn’t loath seeing Mycroft.

 

With a slight nod he greeted her, “Hello again, Mrs. Hudson, I’m here for your guest.”

 

The frown returned to Mrs. Hudson’s face and she responded, “Well, dear, she’s fallen asleep on my couch. The poor thing, it’s so uncomfortable and she’ll get a crick in her neck. The baby has been kicking up a storm, finally tired them both out.”

 

Mycroft internally shuddered at the thought. He couldn’t imagine why anyone in their right mind would care to produce children. He was horrified at the thought of a clueless fetus kicking at surrounding organs and the women who were excited about it. The loss of bladder function, the inability to lie supine, pedal edema, and the raging of hormones were more than enough to permanently repulse Mycroft to the idea of offspring.

 

“You might as well come in, it’s getting dark out. Blast this awful winter, I just want to see the sun for more than a hour everyday!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, ushering Mycroft into the building for the second time that day.

 

Mrs. Hudson’s flat was on the ground level of the building and the door was already open. She closed it as he stepped inside. Her flat was modest though slightly larger in the sitting room but smaller in the kitchen than the flat his brother stayed in upstairs.

 

The room was dimly lit by two lamps sitting on end tables and Mycroft could see Natalia’s sleeping form on Mrs. Hudson’s aged red velvet couch that had plastic coverings on the cushion. The plastic coverings on furniture were typical of women her age, he thought to himself. He remembered being a child and going to spend a week with a distant aunt who had been more than adamant about the plastic covers on the chairs. He remembered his thighs sticking painfully to them in the summer heat and feeling like the skin had been horribly ripped off when he attempted to get up. It was a good thing for Natalia’s sake that Mrs. Hudson kept a blanket over the seat cushions.

 

“Would you like a cuppa, Mycroft?” Mrs. Hudson asked as he watched Natalia quietly, debating whether or not to wake her. Her back was to him but he could see that she was resting a hand on her stomach and the other under her head to offer more cushion to the tiny pillow her head laid on.

 

Mycroft broke his gaze and looked to Mrs. Hudson and shook his head, “I unfortunately decline, Mrs. Hudson. I do feel that I am going to have to wake Miss Messina.”

 

“Do you have to? The poor girl is exhausted!” Mrs Hudson protested but then put her hand to her mouth and blushed, realizing her voice was loud. It only took a few moments and movement could be seen from the couch.

 

“Oh dear, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Hudson whispered, frozen in place and not sure if she should help Natalia as she started to get up or to keep her distance.

 

Natalia rolled with only a bit of difficulty on her back and pushed herself up with her hands behind her bum on the seat cushions. Her dark hair was only messy on her left side where her head made contact with the pillow, her eyes were still full of exhaustion but after several blinks she managed to look more awake.

 

“Oh,” Natalia expressed in surprise, “it’s you again.”

 

The woman ran a ran to her hair to smooth it as she swung her legs so that her feet could hit the floor. A blush spread across her face and she avoided making direct eye contact with Mycroft. 

 

Mycroft cleared his thought before speaking, “Yes, Miss Messina, it’s me. I know we weren’t properly introduced but I’m Mycroft Holmes. I am Sherlock’s older brother.”

 

“Nice to properly meet you. I’m Natalia,” she responded as she finally stood up from the couch and ran her hands along her clothes to smooth out wrinkles that did not exist. He could see now that without the coat he had originally seen her in, that she was indeed pregnant. He frowned to himself at the work that would be cut out for him. From what he had gathered from John, the child was the product on nonconsensual relations and that would make her care and protection involve not just security but both mental help and obstetric medicine involvement.

 

Mycroft felt a tinge of guilt, though he suspected her should feel more, about the fact that another life was ruined because of his terrible decision of releasing Moriarty into the world. In fact, more than another life was ruined. Several lives were ruined because of him but he couldn’t let that stop his new course of action. He needed to be involved in the now and that also involved, he just realized, Mrs. Hudson and her safety.

 

“Mrs. Hudson, please pack a bag, I believe you should come with me as well.”

 

“Why me? I’m perfectly ok right where I am!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. 

 

Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose out of annoyance. He just wished that people who already knew him would have the decency to understand that he didn’t make orders or suggestions that were meant to be taken likely. He wasted no time or energy in anything that did not have a direct purpose and a means to a successful end.

 

“Moriarty is alive and at large, Mrs. Hudson. It’s why Miss Messina will be leaving with me and I suggest you do as well. As you clearly remember, you were a target in his last game and I may as well save us all a lot of time and effort to get you to safety now,” Mycroft explained slowly. The older woman gasped at the mention of Moriarty’s name. That was all it took before she said, “Oh, just give me a minute then. I always keep a bag packed, especially with the trouble Sherlock always brings around!”

 

With panic, Mrs. Hudson went shuffling as fast as her hip would allow through a door off of the sitting room. Mycroft looked back at Natalia as she started to grab her jacket. Without a second thought, Mycroft stepped forward and took it from her. She started at him with confusion but he ignored it and stepped behind her, holding the jacket open for her to slip her arms in with ease.

 

After shrugging on the jacket on her shoulders, Natalia thanked Mycroft, causing a small blush to form on the tip of his nose. She smiled and he was unaware of why.

 

Mycroft gave her a smile out of politeness as he had tried earlier in the day but this time it seemed to garner a better response. She broke her stare with Mycroft and went over to the door of the apartment to begin to slip on her shoes. He couldn’t help but watch her but was interrupted by Mrs. Hudson coming out of the door she had just entered with a small rolling suitcase and her travel coat on.

 

“All ready, dearies!” she exclaimed. Mycroft merely nodded at her and said, “Well then, the car awaits outside. We’ll be able to talk more candidly in there than here.”

 

Without another word, he ushered the two women out of the apartment after Mrs. Hudson did a quick sweep to make sure all the lights and gas were off. He paused in the hallway to let her lock her apartment door and once again outside for her to lock the front door.

 

The black car was still parked directly outside the building and Natalia walked over to it alone. She had seen it before, or at a similar one as Mycroft had a fleet of cars at his disposal, and she didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to guess that Mycroft would be in any other type of car.

 

She looked into the front passenger’s side window to see if the doors were unlocked, not sure if she wanted to sit in the back seat with both Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft.

 

Mycroft tapped his foot impatiently at Mrs. Hudson as her hands shook while she tried to quickly lock the several on the door. He knew he was making her fumble more by hovering over her and so he stepped back and turned to start working across the sidewalk to the car, surprised that his driver was not already out of the car to open the door. He watched as Natalia looked into the front window and his body froze for a moment as she let out a short and sharp scream and began to stumble back, her heel catching on an uneven raise on the cement. 

 

She began to fall back but Mycroft remembered himself and moved quickly, catching her around the waist with his hands just above the more prominent part of the bulge of her stomach. Her jacket and sweater scrunched up under his hands as he helped hoist her to help her gain her stance. Her hair filled his face and an inhale though his nose unintentionally gave him the scent of her hair that smelled vaguely of brown sugar and vanilla. It made his mouth water slightly.

 

“He’s dead,” Natalia whispered, stepping backward again but more so to feel the reassurance of Mycroft’s body against hers than to get away from the body in the driver’s seat. She turned herself so that Mycroft’s hands slipped away and she smoothed her jacket and swearer with her left hand as he had just barely saw a glimpse of the taut skin. She grabbed Mycroft’s sleeve with her right and said, “He’s coming for me.”

 

Mycroft looked into her eyes and saw the terror where innocent sleep had been only minutes ago. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and sent a quick text to Anthea.

 

_Driver dead. Stranded at 221B. Will return inside and await for backup. I am armed. -M. Holmes_

 

He then followed it with a second text after ordering Mrs. Hudson to unlock the door again:

 

_Arrange accommodation for Mrs. Hudson. Obtain ‘herbal soothers’ for her. -M. Holmes_

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes at his own mention of Mrs. Hudson’s drug habit but if it would keep her quiet and put her to sleep once they managed to get away from Baker Street, he would give her whatever she wanted. He was all too familiar with her habits. He was aware of all the habits and more of the people who surrounded his brother the most. He was just glad that while cocaine was Sherlock’s drug of choice, he was doing well at abstaining and did not give in to marijuana. He would never be able to respect his brother of all people should he take a drug such as that as it would only smother his genius.

 

Mycroft marched the two women up the stairs into Sherlock’s apartment. The two men residing in the flat never bothered to lock the door. Mrs. Hudson would come in as she pleased to clean up after them all while protesting that she wasn’t their housekeeper. Any person who sought to do harm would be only paused momentarily by an obstacle such as a door. Keeping it locked would hardly benefit them.

 

 _221B Baker Street is compromised. Is your firearm in your possession? -M. Holmes_

 

_I have a spare taped behind the skull painting. Don’t tell Sherlock. -JW_

 

Had the night been less serious in nature, Mycroft might chuckle at John’s quip. Instead he ordered Natalia and Mrs. Hudson to sit in the kitchen as he grabbed the painting of the skull that his brother kept. He pulled it carefully down as to be respectful to the art and turned it over. A small handgun was held with duct tape to frame along the bottom. He was realized as he pulled it off that the tape had been pulled off and re-adhered several times. It was just barely holing the firearm. He had no doubt that Sherlock was more than aware of its existence and had tested it out several times.

 

Mycroft checked the rounds in the gun and saw it was only half loaded. It would have to do and he got up and went over to the kitchen. The ladies before him eyed the gun with pale faces. He looked directly at Natalia and asked, “Miss Messina, are you familiar with operating a handgun?”

 

It was no surprise that Natalia shook her head and paled further, realizing what he was going to put the weapon in her possession. He was probably going to leave them alone. 

 

“Stand up, let me show you very quickly,” Mycroft ordered her. He realized he should have used a softer tone but it was not the time and the place to worry about her feelings. She stood up with shaky legs and took a few steps forward until she was standing directly before him. He took a step to the side and she brought her hands up. He placed the gun in one of them but then covered both of her hands with his own as he placed them in the proper position.

 

The skin of her hand was soft but as cold as the metal of the gun. He took a deep breath as she looked at the gun nervously, running his fingers over the texture of the grip and avoiding the trigger entirely. “You’ll be more accurate if you hold the gun like this,” Mycroft explained and slid his hands underneath her wrists and lifted her hands so they were pointing the gun past him. 

 

“Don’t touch the trigger until you’re absolutely ready to fire. Don’t waste time aiming for something like the leg. Aim for the center,” he told her, realizing every word made her more and more uncomfortable. He couldn’t believe he was putting a loaded weapon into the hands of a pregnant woman who had never fired a handgun before. It was as the saying goes, desperate times call for desperate measures and he while he was indeed desperate, he was not desperate enough to instill the gun to Mrs. Hudson.

 

“I can leave the safety on but you need to remember to turn it off. A wasted second to remember it when the gun won’t shoot could make a difference if something should happen,” Mycroft offered her but then said, “If I leave it off, you need to be incredibly vigilant. I’m having a team come for us and if they do come, you can’t shoot them. Do you understand?”

 

Natalia nodded and then answered, “Leave it on. I promise I won’t forget to turn it off.”

 

Mycroft nodded and touched the small piece of metal on the right side of the gun and said, “Use your right finger to slide it forward before placing your finger on the trigger and only if there is a confrontation. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Natalia nodded again and gulped nervously. He allowed her to lower her hands and gently guided her back to sit with Mrs.Hudson with his hand on her upper arm. Once she was sitting with the on her lap, pointing away from any of them, Mycroft declared he was going to look in Sherlock’s bedroom before going upstairs to John’s to make sure that they were as alone as they should be.

 

Mrs. Hudson gasped nervously and gripped Natalia’s arm and said, “Please be careful, Mycroft. I know we don’t get on well but I don’t need you getting blown to bits.”

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” Mycroft responded with a bit of annoyance that tended to make up his tone in most regular situations he was put in. He went into the room off the kitchen and entered his brother’s room. It was a rather tidy and simple room compared to the chaos that was the rest of the flat. He only had one closet and two windows. Mycroft checked the locks on the windows before opening the closet. He kept one hand at his hip, ready to grab his firearm if necessary. 

 

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so he exited the room and announced that Sherlock’s room was clear. He checked the windows in the kitchen and sitting room before remembering the bathroom. Relieved that the floor was clear of threats, Mycroft took the gun out of his holster, not content with walking up the stairs unprepared for any confrontation that could present itself.

 

Walking slowly and quietly, Mycroft walked up the narrow staircase that stopped directly at the door of the room. He put his hand on the aged bronze doorknob and with a small twist, pushed it open.

 

If Sherlock’s room was tidy, John’s was immaculate. He really didn’t have many possessions. A full-size bed was pushed into the corner with a night stand next to it that held only a small alarm clock and a cellphone charger. He had no closet but a three-drawer dresser. By the window in the small room was a small table that only had a few neatly stacked papers and his the cord of his laptop charger. He had noticed the laptop sitting on the fire escape when checking the windows. He’d have to ask the doctor about that when the timing was more opportune.

 

Content and relieved that there was nothing and nobody in the room, Mycroft began to make his descent down the stairs when he heard glass breaking, muffled gun fire, and Mrs. Hudson scream. Without hesitation, he ran down the stairs to be met with the sight of a window with an obvious hole from a sniper shot and continued onto the kitchen to see both women clutching each other on the floor. He fell to his knees before them and pushed them up to check them for wounds.

 

“Are either one of you hit?” Mycroft questioned sternly. Natalia lifted her head to look at him and he saw the abrasion on her temple. He thumbed it softly and groaned with relief, “It’s a graze.” He looked into her eyes but only for a moment. He expected tears but he only found fear but it wasn’t the kind of fear that crippled. She looked scared but strong and unphased by the blood beginning to drip from the would. She may not be the kind of woman to be familiar with gunfights but he realized she had seen her own fair share of traumatic scenarios. He’d have to look more into her records after this was all over.

 

Mycroft looked back at the window, feeling idiotic for letting the women sit in such clear of a line to the window. He should have known after the sniper games that Moriarty had played in the past. He realized the only windowless room in the entire house was the bathroom but he would only be trapping them like rats by hiding in there.

 

“Stay low and crawl with me to the door,” he ordered the women. He watched as Natalia carefully held the gun as she crawled on her hands and knees; Mrs. Hudson followed slowly after her. 

 

The couch by the door offered them temporary shelter and he let the women sit along the side of it, offering them the most protection. He was exposed but it would have to do as he sat on the floor with his back on the wall adjacent to the door. He pulled his phone from his pocket and sent another text to Anthea:

 

_Sniper on Baker Street. Use caution. -M. Holmes_

 

Mycroft almost pocketed his phone when she responded:

 

_Any injuries or casualties? -Anthea_

 

_One minor abrasion on Miss Messina. - M. Holmes_

 

_Sending armored ambulance anyways. Agents ETA 2 min. -Anthea_

 

Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief at the thought that only 2 more minutes and they would be safe. He worried for the safety of his agents and workers but it was a risk of the job that they had been well aware of before signing contracts to join the agency. The drafted only the brightest, strongest, and gifted from all branches of military service regardless of country. They trained constantly and were to be expected to perform flawlessly. Granted, the day had presented itself with many flaws but they were not dealing with the regular threat that they tended to deal with.

 

Natalia had her back against the side of the sofa and sat with her knees crossed before her. She would have preferred the comfort of hugging her knees to her chest like she used to when she was little but the bulge of her abdomen prevented that. She ran her hands along her stomach, gaining some form of comfort.

 

“Are you ok?” Mycroft asked, realizing he was watching her. He realized he wasn’t just asking about her but also about the small life growing in her. She looked at him and nodded, “He’s kicking right now.”

 

“At least he shows the same desire to get out of here,” Mycroft half-joked, trying to lighten the mood even though they were all in grave danger. The gun was resting on the floor beside Natalia’s leg. He leaned forward to grab it, not seeing any more need for her to have it. As his fingers just barely grazed the metal, now warm from having been in Natalia’s hands, another shot was fired just over Mycroft’s head.

 

Glass had sprayed across the floor and Mrs. Hudson began shrieking but couldn’t stop. Natalia put her arm around her and try to calm her but a nerve had been hit in the older woman and she couldn’t calm herself. Mycroft turned to look at the hole on the wall he was sitting back on and swallowed a gasp at how close that bullet had been to killing him with a perfect head shot. It wasn’t the first time he had had such a close call but he was still horrified though he refused to let the two women know.

 

Mycroft began to hear the side of heavy automobiles but only barely. He realized their rescuers were arriving. Natalia waved her free hand to Mycroft and hissed, “Get over here before he doesn’t miss!”

 

There was hardly any room in the small space between the door and when Natalia leaned out and grabbed him by his sleeve, he had no choice but compress his large body as much as possible. He was squeezed between the younger woman and Mrs. Hudson with Natalia’s over across his back so she could comfort the still whimpering landlady.

 

“I believe our rescue team has arrived. I can hear them. They will come in and we will have to announce ourselves. Let me do most of the talking. I’ll get you both set up in an ambulance to leave,” Mycroft said to them calmly, trying to cause the least amount of distress to Mrs. Hudson. He wasn’t cruel enough to ignore the fact that all this chaos could be destructive to an old woman. He then realized what all this stress could also do to Natalia and her baby.

 

Mrs. Hudson continued to cry but nodded in understanding. Mycroft looked at Natalia and she nodded as well. She was still holding onto his right sleeve and let go of the material of his jacket but then wrapped her hand on his bicep instead and said, “Thank you.”

 

“Thank me when we’re out of here and safe,” Mycroft said as they heard the front door open with a large crack.


	8. Chapter 8

_We have Molly as well as an unexpected addition in the form of Irene Adler. Where do we go from here? We’re at the The Pussy’s Den about 8 blocks from St. Barts -John_

 

 _All parties are safe and will be transported to the compound as per Mycroft. He will contact you momentarily. -Greg_

 

Anthea let out a happy scream when the two text messages overtook her phone within seconds of one another. Her heart raced in the excitement of knowing that all the important people in her life, though she would never reveal such sentiments to anyone, were safe. She blushed when she saw the doctor’s mention of Irene Adler. She couldn’t say that she had intentionally sent her seeing as he probably assumed she had been dead. The only people who had known of her survival was herself and Sherlock. She had helped arranged her rescue those few years ago with Sherlock. He was more than willing to help and easily deduced that Anthea’s reasoning for helping The Woman was because she had feelings of sorts for her.

 

It wasn’t that Anthea was embarrassed about being gay but she felt no need to inform anyone of it. It was on a need to know basis and no one needed to know. She also liked to think that allowing men to think she was straight offered her an advantage. She wanted to hold on to that advantage for as long as she could. 

 

Anthea wasted no time in responding to the text from Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade first. She had been more confident that the boys would find Molly and while she was incredibly worried about her, she had been more worried about Mycroft once realizing that Tomas, the driver and a nice man with two young children and a third on the way, was dead. Thankfully, she wouldn’t have the job of telling his wife. She also felt terribly about Agent Stevens and the explosion. It was a dark day for the organization.

 

Greg Lestrade had gained rather high levels of clearance in the agency after Sherlock’s Fall. He was fierce and dedicated and got along very well with just about everyone he met. He still worked full-time for New Scotland Yard but freelanced for the agency when needed. They paid him handsomely and offered him any other assistance he might need at what they considered his day job. 

 

When 221B Baker Street was confirmed as compromised, no one could even imagine Greg not showing up. Anthea felt a little bad for him after his wife officially left after several attempts of reconciliation after her multiple bouts of infidelity because he threw himself in as many missions as he could. 

 

There had been one occurrence that left both Anthea and Mycroft a bit rattled for their colleague when he had clearly burnt himself out and on a mission couldn’t even get out of the armored vehicle outside the scene of a nuclear weapons raid at an abandoned warehouse on the far side of town. He had frozen in his seat and when someone finally came to check on him, he lashed out and crumbled to the floor in a mess of tears. 

 

After that had happened, Mycroft secured him nearly a three month long leave from the Yard and sent him to a resort-like clinic in Sweden with the best psychologists that money could buy. He came back a new man and almost two years since his breakdown, did not show any signs of repeating his destructive behavior.

 

_Thank you so much, Greg. Please ride with Miss Messina and Mrs. Hudson to the compound and stay with them until Sherlock arrives. -Anthea_

 

Anthea pulled up the video feeds from the street cameras and was able to get a view of Baker Street. It took a little adjusting but she saw Mycroft standing with a bright red blanket over his shoulders. She smiled when he shrugged it off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground in annoyance. She just caught the two women he had protected being helped into the ambulance by Greg.

 

After checking everything was set, Anthea quickly checked for Molly on the street cameras. She felt uneasy that they were taking a cab but after seeing what had happened to Tomas, she couldn’t even guarantee their safety in their own vehicles. She watched them as first Sherlock got in and then smiled as his arm darted out of the cab and pulled Molly in. Irene squeezed into the backseat after Molly and John walked around the cab and got into the front passenger seat. Anthea had texted coordinates to John. It wasn’t directly to the compound as the cab could easily be viewed as a security threat so she arranged for an armored car to meet with them directly outside of the city limits.

 

Anthea made note of the plates on the cab and ran a tracking program so that every camera in the city that they were able to access would register and track in real time where the cab was. It freed her up to continue running background checks on all the employees that had accessed the building for the entire day, trying to pinpoint who was in the general vicinity of Jonathan Moran’s location during his confrontation with Mycroft.

 

As profiles of employees were popping up on the screen, Anthea began to make a list. After collecting nearly a dozen names, Anthea sent out texts to Mycroft as well as the Larson Bennington, the head of interrogation. She wasn’t planning on using Larson’s more extreme methods to question the agents but she knew he could be rather persuasive with just his reputation alone.

 

_Transport agents to the compound in separate vehicles. We are also leaving the city. Lock down the building and leave Agent Pearson’s group for security. -M. Holmes_

 

Anthea frowned at the text that flashed on her phone. She despised going to the compound. It was formally an army compound that had been closed due to the shifting of military funds when the war in Afghanistan had started. It was an hour north of London and surrounded by farmlands that smelled of cow manure and would settle in their clothes. She always had to throw them away after returning to the city.

 

As much as she did not want to go to compound, she knew that the situations they had faced today meant that they weren’t safe and it was the best course of action to take. It would make it easier to defend themselves so that they could focus on the offensive against Moriarty.

 

Anthea paged Agent Pearson on the office phone she rarely used on her desk. Pearson did not appreciate texting like the younger woman did. He often times did not respond simply because he thought the lack of direct communication was a lack of respect. He had spent most of his life in the military, including as a child when his own father had served. It wasn’t until the middle-aged man had been shot in the leg and lost most of the muscle mass in his left thigh from the would that he had been discharged. Mycroft wasted no time in recruiting him for his sharp mind and expertise in security as well as logistics. He was also fiercely loyal and loyalty went incredibly far in their line of work. 

 

Pearson answered the page with a stern voice and Anthea addressed him, “It’s Anthea. Mycroft has ordered the building go in lock down. Your men are to stay here and secure it until you receive orders to do otherwise. No men are to leave, do you understand?”

 

“I understand, can I offer dismissal to one agent? His wife is going in for a c-section tomorrow morning and I don’t have the heart to keep him here, Anthea,” Pearson requested. As tough as he was, he wasn’t completely heartless.

 

“Who is it?” Anthea asked, pulling up the roster of Pearson’s men. Most of them had been chosen by the stern man and he respected them more than anyone else in the agency save for Mycroft and Anthea. Anthea knew he looked after them like they were family.

 

“Agent Stuart,” Pearson answered. Anthea pulled up his profile on her computer, her eyes burning from staring at it for so long. She was beginning to look forward to the hour long drive into the country. 

 

Nothing seemed to spark interest in his profile and Anthea gave Pearson the approval to dismiss him, adding, “We’ll notify him when he can return to work. We don’t want anyone, even our own, from the outside entering the building once we’re locked down.”

 

“Understood. Thank you, Anthea. We can have the lockdown complete in less than an hour,” Pearson responded.

 

Anthea ended the connection and let out a large sigh. She began pulling up the several programs needed to wipe out the computer systems as well as engage all the lockdown procedures that ranged from everything such as the central air for the whole building to the coffee machines in the break rooms. All of the data from the computers were backed up in several locations and as soon as she got to the compound, she would be able to start right where she had left off on the computer that was currently before her.

 

It took nearly a half hour to complete all the necessary processes. With relief, she entered a final bit of code into the computer and watched as it began to delete all the files from the building’s database. She got up from the computer, groaning at the tension in her bones and muscles and stretched her arms and back out before grabbing her coat.

 

Anthea swept a stack of files in her arms, containing profiles for the newly discovered Jonathan Moran as well as his father, Moriarty, and the agents that would be sent for interrogation once at the compound.

 

Without disruption, Anthea was able to clear through the building to the parking garage. Pearson met her at the door to the garage, holding it open for her and informing her that the building was secure and lockdown was successful. She was grateful that something had finally gone smoothly.

 

A car was waiting for her as soon as she walked through the door and she couldn’t wait to spread out on the leather seat in the back. The driver was a regular for Anthea and she smiled to herself knowing she was in good hands as he got out of the car and opened the door for her. She set the files in first before climbing in. The door closed shortly afterwards.

 

The driver was a nice man by the name of Tony Striders, an American. He had been an up and coming professional race car driver until he had lost vision in his left eye after an accident caused by another drive on the track. He was kept from competing due to being a liability and had been recommended to the agency by an agent that had been overseas. The driver had been driving limousines for embarrassingly little pay and had saved the agent’s life when being pursued by an assassin while working with the CIA. It was just another example of how the agency enlisted the exceptional.

 

“No playing with the traffic lights tonight, Anthea, we need to be covert. ETA is going to be almost two hours tonight,” Tony informed her as he began to drive. Anthea pouted in the dark but didn’t complain. As convenient as it was to change traffic lights to allow easier passage through the city, it left a trail of breadcrumbs for anyone to find. The compound wasn’t secret but not allowing the enemy to have exact coordinates of individuals was critical.

 

There was nothing for Anthea to do in the back of the car. She checked her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed anything urgent. Seeing that she didn’t, she informed the American that she was going to catch a little bit of sleep. He was so familiar with her that he began to play _Moonlight Sonata_ in the car, her favorite piece of Beethoven. As always, it lulled her to a relaxing sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, things are slowing down a bit (in the story, not in the updates) but only for a little bit. As much as I love writing Mycroft as a BAMF, the man needs to rest his joints.


	9. Chapter 9

“That traffic was terrible!” John exclaimed as he got out of the cab. They had just gotten to the coordinates that Anthea had sent and he grumpily paid the driver the rather large fare for driving them out of the city. They were in the parking lot of a small town pizza shop. He felt that it was rather unusual but he had learned to stop questioning the secret organization that Sherlock’s brother ran a long time ago. 

 

John helped Irene get out of the back seat. She looked flawless but adjusted her scarf anyways. She blocked John as she tried to help Molly get out, caressing her arm rather seductively. Molly blushed and couldn’t find any words to say but she looked at John for help.

 

“I’ll take her from here,” John butted in and took Molly’s hand and pulled her from Irene. The Woman simply smiled and winked at the two. John couldn’t help but blush also.

 

Sherlock got out on the other side of the cab and it quickly left. He fixed his coat before cracking his knuckles and said, “I’d be surprised if that cabbie makes it home alive with that heart condition he has no idea about.” His companions all rolled their eyes as at his typical demeanor. They were all happy to be out of the cramped vehicle, though John was more than certain Molly was having her fill being so close to Sherlock.

 

Sherlock had surprised all of them with the attention he had displayed toward the pathologist. He questioned her for the first part of their journey and then decided it was his duty to assess her further for any possible injuries. He had even gone as far as asking Molly to remove her jacket. Irene agreed wholeheartedly but even John could see that she only did so to keep her image. He knew she was a lesbian but he knew she had no interest in Molly, mostly Sherlock.

 

John protested and Molly was able to keep her jacket on. Besides the questioning, Molly had hardly said a word. He felt bad for the poor girl for all that she had gone through that day. He knew he was going to have to have a chat with his partner about being more gentle with her.

 

“So where is this car that’s supposed to pick us up?” Irene asked, rubbing her pale hands together in attempt to stay warm. She looked longingly at the pizza place and said, “I can’t begin to guess the last time I have had pizza.”

 

Sherlock scoffed, “How can you think about eating at a time like this?”

 

“Sherlock,” Molly squeaked, finding her voice, “you need to eat, too. Even if you don’t when you work. This could be quite a long case.” Sherlock locked down at her and said, “For all of our sakes, I refuse to let this become a rather large chapter in our lives.”

 

The group stood their in silence, their breaths rising in the dark as they stared at one another. John was chewing on the inside of his lip, really wishing that he could have a go at the pizza shop. He looked at the taller man in frustration before finally saying, “I’m going in! You ladies care to join me?”

 

Molly and Irene agreed instantly. He offered them an arm each and they took it gratefully. They huddled close for warmth as they walked briskly toward the pizza shop. Sherlock watched them with a look of pure annoyance but then seeing Molly lean into John stirred a feeling in his gut that made him call out, “Oh, wait for me, you lot!”

 

The trio ahead of him stopped and grinned to each other. Molly let go of John’s arm and meant to allow Sherlock to walk along side his partner but he surprised them all as he linked his arm with Molly’s and began walking without another word. 

 

Molly blushed and tightened her arm with Sherlock’s so that she could savor the moment while it lasted. She knew he was worried about her after the events of the day. She knew he would hate to have to find another pathologist and so she would accept whatever attention he would bestow upon her gratefully.

 

They entered the pizza shop and Irene moaned loudly at the smell as it hit them upon opening the door. “We’ll go get a table, you boys take care of the food,” Irene ordered and pulled away from John and took Molly with her to sit at a small table in the corner of the tiny shop. They sat across from one another and Molly smiled at her and said, “So, you are the famous Ms. Adler.”

 

Irene blushed but not out of shyness but gratitude for addressing her notoriety. She flashed her perfect white teeth at the other woman and said, “I am, and you are Sherlock’s pathologist. We can actually talk now that we are out of that ghastly bar.”

 

“How did you find me?” Molly asked. Irene held her answer as John came over with bottles of water and said, “Pizza will be ready in a few minutes. I figured I’d get you ladies something to drink.”

 

The women thanked John and waited until he walked back to the counter to stand with Sherlock, who had a rather grim look on his face. Molly assumed he had to be deducing the two employees and any sanitary conditions that didn’t meet his standards. She was secretly glad he had never accepted her offers for lunch all the times she had asked at St. Barts. It would have been an embarrassing ordeal.

 

Irene cracked the seal on the water and answered, “Anthea sent me to look for you.”

 

Molly’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion and she asked, “But, how did she know you were alive? And why you?”

 

Irene lowered her voice to a whisper and told her, “Anthea and I are quite close. She sent me because I’m undetectable, or I was until now, and she was very worried about you. You are one of her best friends but don’t tell her I told you that.”

 

The Woman took a sip from her bottle as Molly relaxed her eyebrows and straightened up. She cleared her throat and asked, “Sherlock knew you were alive, too, didn’t he?”

 

Irene merely nodded, causing Molly to frown slightly. Irene looked Molly directly in her deep brown eyes and said, “I know you were concerned about him recognizing me by ‘not my face’. But don’t you worry, I’m over him and have moved onto greener pastures. He’s all yours.”

 

Molly let out a sarcastic laugh that was louder than intended. It caused the men waiting for the food to look back in concern but seeing no threats, began to talk amongst themselves again. She blushed and said quietly, “Sherlock has no interest in me. I’m his pathologist.”

 

“You’re his pathologist that he almost lost, Dr. Hooper,” Irene pointed out, “I think your life being in danger has awoken up a sentimental beast in him. It’ll be interesting to see how he deals with it. If I were you, I’d try to coax it out of him and let the humanity in him awaken.”

 

Molly didn’t know how to respond so she didn’t. She was saved from an uncomfortable silence by John carrying a tray of pizza and Sherlock with a small stack of plates and napkins. They sat at the table Irene clapped happily as John served her first with a large piece.

 

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve had carbs!” Irene gushed as she grabbed the parmesan cheese and sprinkled it heavily on her slice. Molly couldn’t help but laugh at her eagerness. She also felt slightly envious of her figure and realized that if she were to monitor what she ate as strictly as The Woman, she might have a more flattering body.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and unknowingly but Molly’s concerns to rest, “I don’t see the point in restricting a necessary macronutrient from one’s diet. I highly think the male population, or in your case the female population, cares if a woman eats carbohydrates of all things.”

 

“I’m trying to maintain my girlish figure,” Irene replied with a shrug, not taking Sherlock’s words to heart. She took a bite of the pizza and let out an overly sexualized moan, causing the employees behind the counter to stare and John to lower his head in embarrassment as he served Molly a slice before himself.

 

John figured Sherlock wasn’t going to eat but then he noticed that their was a fourth plate and it was settled comfortably in front of him between his hands. He looked to John expectantly and John couldn’t even come up with a quip to throw at him as he fumbled with serving him a slice. Looking back, in his mind, John had realized he had never seen Sherlock eat pizza.

 

Even Molly was a bit surprised as Sherlock picked up the hot slice and took a small bite from it. John was beaming with pride at him as if he were proud of his own child. He caught Molly’s eye and they both laughed. Sherlock frowned and looked at them and said, “I fail to see the humor in our situation. You should be eating as the car Anthea has sent will be here in less than 15 minutes.”

 

John and Molly calmed themselves and ate their pizza happily. The table remained silent as Molly and John both ate two slice, Sherlock barely finishing his first and refusing to eat the crust, and Irene splurging on the beginnings of a third while complaining she was horribly full but in heaven.

 

Irene gave up nearly halfway through her third slice and moments later they saw a distinct black car that only the agency could have sent. Sherlock was the first one to spot it and he stood up without a word. The rest of them looked out the window to see the car as well and started to get up. Sherlock picked up Molly’s coat that she had taken off and placed on the back of her chair. He held it up for her to slide her arms into and both Irene and John watched with pure and utter shock on their faces. 

 

Molly blushed and bit her lip nervously as she allowed Sherlock to help her with her coat and muttered, “Thanks.” She caught John’s eye as he winked subtly at her with a cheeky grin. Her face felt like it had caught on fire as her cheeks glowed red. John looked back to Sherlock but the consulting detective acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

 

John was fully aware, as was anyone else, of Molly’s attraction to Sherlock. When he had first met her, she had been a stuttering, blushing mess. The years of working alongside Sherlock had allowed her to be more at ease with him but this sudden attention he was giving her that evening had thrown everyone for a loop. 

 

The group filed out of the pizza shop with Sherlock opening the door first for Molly but then for the rest of them. The driver exited the car and opened the door and Molly entered first, followed by Irene, then John, and finally Sherlock. It was a small limousine with two bench seats facing each other. John and Sherlock sat with their back to the front of the car and Molly and Irene on the other seats.

 

The driver closed the door, not saying a word to any of them. He got back in the vehicle and wasted no time as he began onward to their final destination. It was warm in the car Molly felt it comfortable enough to unbutton her jacket at the top. Even Sherlock loosened his scarf and looked out into the dark through the already tinted windows.

 

“Do you think Natalia is heading to where we’re going?” John asked, remembering the pregnant woman that graced their apartment earlier that day. He felt bad that he had completely forgotten about her but he had been otherwise occupied.

 

Sherlock looked at him and said, “Of course and I’m sure Mycroft has obtained all the medical attention she could ask for.” His voice was calm and serious, not snarky or condescending. 

 

Molly looked at the men with confusion and asked, “Who is Natalia?”

 

John looked at Sherlock, eyeing him to see if he wanted to explain but he only looked out the window again. John looked at Molly and said, “She came to our apartment asking for help this morning. She’s pregnant with Jim’s baby.”

 

Molly gasped, “But how? He’s dead!”

 

“Obviously not,” Sherlock responded. She frowned as she mentally welcomed back his regular attitude. She knew it was too good to last. 

 

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock and then said, “It was rape. He’s been trying to have a son and she’s the first one to be carrying a boy. He had been killing all the woman who hadn’t been able to.”

 

Molly’s lip began to quiver and fear overpowered her. John frowned and said, “But it’s ok, we’re safe.”

 

Irene looked to Molly and felt her begin to shake as they were sitting close enough that their arms were touching. Instinctively, she put her arm around Molly and suddenly the small woman let out a sob and began to cry in Irene’s shoulder. She rubbed the hysterical woman’s back and whispered calm words to her as John and Sherlock watched in confusion, not knowing how to react.

 

“Molly,” John finally said, reaching his hand out to touch her shoulder but she shrugged him off. Sherlock looked at John for help but John was as lost as he was as Molly sobbed. 

 

“Molly, please,” Sherlock finally said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. It was enough to encourage Molly to lift her wet face and look at him. He stared into her red and puffy eyes and asked, “What’s wrong?”

 

“I was pregnant with Moriarty’s baby, Sherlock, but I lost it,” she managed the words out so that they were capable of being understood. Sherlock paled and his jaw dropped. He shook his head and said, “But you two broke up. You only went on three dates!”

 

John elbowed Sherlock but he ignored the doctor and said, “That’s why he sent Moran after you.”

 

“Now that we have that cleared up, can we all please calm down. The poor girl is in shock!” John spoke up. Molly shook her head and pulled away from Irene, wiping at her face. Sherlock dug into his coat pocket and produced a handkerchief, handing it to her. She nodded a thanks toward him and took it too wipe at the wetness on her cheeks.

 

“I had a lot of wine that night and we were watching the telly at my flat. He said I was drunk and went to put me into bed except he ended up staying in my bed. I couldn’t remember much but I remembered enough,” Molly explained as she whimpered softly at the memories she had surprised for several years. Sherlock felt a tinge of guilt for not having realized or caught signs of it before.

 

Molly looked up at Sherlock and told him, “I didn’t dump him because you said he was gay. I dumped him because he raped me, Sherlock. That week that I took off work when you were working on that case with the double-homicide and the German salesman...”

 

“That was when you miscarried.”

 

John didn’t know what to say and the tension was too thick for the confined space they were in. Irene sat calmly, leaning against the door on her side of the car. She kept a hand on Molly’s back, rubbing circles in an attempt to keep her calm.

 

“Doesn’t that mess with the whole dynamics of Henry the VIII theme?” John asked, realizing the count was now thrown off as there were now more than six women. 

 

Molly had no idea what John was talking about and she looked at them both for an answer. John was the one to answer her, “Moriarty or Jim, sent us a message through a virus on my laptop when Natalia had stolen a copy of his files. It had to do with him murdering women that weren’t producing sons and he was wearing a crown. We assumed he was mimicking Henry the VIII. He showed the faces of 5 women who we think are dead and Natalia as his bride as she is pregnant with a boy.”

 

The pathologist nodded, trying to digest the information while remaining calm. She rubbed Sherlock’s handkerchief to her nose to wipe at it and could smell him on it. It offered a momentary reprieve.

 

“Did Jim say anything to you when you were dating to hint at him wanting children?” John asked calmly. Molly stilled for a moment and tried to recollect the thoughts she had dispersed years ago to avoid dwelling on them. 

 

Sherlock looked to John and said, “I believe we are almost there. Perhaps we should save this conversation until we have debriefed with Mycroft. I want to speak with Natalia with Molly to see if we can compare their experiences.”

 

Molly spoke up over them, “He said once during out first date that he had been helping raise a friend’s son. He said that it wasn’t the same as his own flesh and blood and that he wanted to raise a son to be just like him.”

 

Sherlock frowned and asked, “Did he say who that friend was?” She shook her head and he frowned even more and said, “I feel like we are stuck until we speak with my brother.”

 

“At least we’re safe,” Molly said softly.


	10. Chapter 10

Mycroft was avoiding the physicians as he stood outside of the medical station, frowning at the smell of manure but knowing it was necessary to be there and not in London. He watched the hustle of his agents as they worked to get the compound settled into full working order. 

 

Located slightly over an hour north of London, the compound was only partially occupied at any given time unless base operations needed to move there. It had been almost four years since the last time operations had to be moved. It was an exhausting effort but it was always necessary. 

 

A cigarette lingered awkwardly between Mycroft’s fingers. He had obtained it from one of the personnel that was permanently stationed at the compound when he had come to give a status report to him. He didn’t often smoke but his nerves were well worn since being tested after a long slumber brought on by years of desk work. 

 

He didn’t want to be disrespectful to the agent that had given him the cigarette but he knew those that occupied the compound full-time tended to have a different demeanor than the rest of the staff located in the city. He couldn’t say they were laid back or more strict but he could tell their priorities were elsewhere. 

 

For those who were permanently stationed at compound, attention was focused on sciences. Primarily, agricultural and animal sciences were the center of attention and Mycroft could care less about whatever the agent had told him about foaming in the pig pens.

 

After the agent had left Mycroft in peace with his cigarette, he leaned against the cold metal wall of the medical station and simply waited. He needed just a few moments to himself and he knew that there was enough to be done that he shouldn’t be bothered for nearly anything. Those around him understood by his stance to stay away as they raced around the compound.

 

Mycroft’s vision felt disconnected as he did not process anything in front of him while drifting into his mind. It gave the impression that he was paying attention to his surroundings and while it was dangerous for him to drift, it was how he chose to relax.

 

A deep breath was all it took for Mycroft to go back to Baker Street. He could feel Natalia’s hand on his arm as he sat on the floor with them awaiting rescue. When he had heard the door crack open, he knew they were safe but he was angry with himself for not doing a better job at protecting them.

 

Making sure Natalia, as well as Mrs. Hudson, had gotten into the safety of the armored ambulance was Mycroft’s first priority. He made sure they were guarded and shielded for the twenty feet it took to get to it from the front door of 221B. He was relieved that there had been no more sniper attacks. He wondered which assassin Moriarty had sent and if killing them was really his goal. He knew that if it had been someone like Sebastian Moran that had been firing at them he wouldn’t have missed unless he wanted to. He knew it was a game but he needed to understand the rules before he could figure out how to take down the criminal mastermind for good. 

 

Mycroft closed his eyes tightly at the sight burned into his memory of Natalia with a shock blanket wrapped around her and her dark eyes meeting his, a small trickle of blood running down her temple, before the ambulance door closed. Mrs. Hudson rode with her and Mycroft went in an armored car, hoping to get some information and answers from the organization’s intelligence group.

 

Hardly any useful information had been present to him and so Mycroft ordered everyone underneath him to only contact him with pertinent information and reports upon the completion of duties rather than periodical status reports.

 

The stressed gentleman opened his eyes to see out across the compound to a black car gliding through the night. He knew it was his brother and his companions and he was relieved to see them file out of the car. He made a questionable hum at seeing his brother offer a hand to help the pathologist out but not the dominatrix.

 

_Come to the medical station for evaluation. -M. Holmes_

 

Mycroft quickly sent the text to his brother and pushed away from the wall he was resting on. He took one last and long drag from the cigarette before throwing it to the ground and stepping on it. He turned away from the sight of the new arrivals making their way through the base and went into the medical station.

 

Mrs. Hudson was wrapped up in a thick, white blanket and a mug of hot chocolate set in front of her on the table. She had refused to be placed in a bed and sat curled up on a worn down office chair. The table was covered with stacks of paper work and as Mycroft approached, he saw it was medical files for the livestock of the compound. He frowned and looked at one of the nurses as she came over to check Mrs. Hudson’s temperature.

 

“Is there a reason why the livestock have medical folders in what is supposed to be a station for humans?” Mycroft asked rather rudely and Mrs. Hudson frowned up at him as she shivered from both the shock and the cold room.

 

The nurse, a young blond woman in her twenties that Mycroft vaguely remembered hiring, let her jaw drop without a word to spare. He rolled his eyes and was about to unleash his bad mood on the innocent girl when, from behind the curtains that gave privacy to the patient beds, the doctor came out.

 

“Mycroft, stop harassing my nurse,” the older man grumbled. The doctor had been in the organization longer than Mycroft had even been alive. The man was in his seventies but refused to retire so for his health, he had requested to be transferred to the quiet compound. Mycroft had expedited his request, which had been more than a decade ago, which left the loyal and brilliant physician to work at his leisure until he needed such as at that moment.

 

“It’s always a pleasure to see you, Brian,” Mycroft said politely and nodded in the man’s direction. He noted that he had a tan he did not remembering him having. It must have been from some outdoor work, Mycroft thought, seeing as how anyone who chose to be at the compound tended to enjoy gardening or other similar pursuits. 

 

Brian scowled at Mycroft and replied with a growl, “It’s Dr. Thompson to you, boy. I’ve been working for this organization since before you were even conceived!”

 

Mycroft was about to humor the old man when the doctor looked down at Mrs. Hudson and with an instant change of expression and a lighter tone he said, “But you, my dear, can call me Brian.”

 

Mrs. Hudson’s face had been pale from the evening’s events and glowed bright red in a matter of seconds as she gave him a hand to take with the one he extended her and giggled like a young girl as he kissed it. Mycroft couldn’t help but blush and looked at the nurse who was also a bit taken back.

 

“Right,” Mycroft finally said after several moments of being an uncomfortable bystander to the flirting of the two older occupants of the room, “can we please do something about these files? The livestock paperwork shouldn’t be here.”

 

The doctor frowned and again and looked at Mycroft with annoyance, “I treat the animals just as I treat the people so it seems fitting that I keep all my files under the same roof.”

 

This was one of the few men that Mycroft would let speak so boldly to him. He respected and admired the man for his hard work, dedication, and perseverance. He also was impressed with his sacrifice which had used to model a pathway for himself. The doctor had never married or had children and had been dedicated to the job his entire life and Mycroft saw himself doing the very same thing.

 

The door of the station flew open and Sherlock glided in with a show of arrogance. He was immediately followed by John who then held the door open for their fellow female companions. Mycroft frowned at his brother’s attitude as he swept in, pushing Dr. Thompson aside and wrapping his arms tightly around Mrs. Hudson.

 

“Are you ok?” Sherlock asked in a worried tone that even surprised John, given by his expression. They all knew that Sherlock cared deeply for her but he tended to put on a more playful attitude toward her to hide his true emotions.

 

Mrs. Hudson’s arms appeared from underneath the blanket and she hugged the slender man with all of her might, “I’m ok, Sherlock. Mycroft came to the rescue and Brian here is taking very good care of me.”

 

Sherlock let go of Mrs. Hudson and looked to Mycroft in surprise but only for a moment before his features softened. He lowered his head but looked up at Mycroft with eyes and said softly, “Thank you, brother.” Mycroft simply nodded and the brothers shared a short moment of peace.

 

“OUCH!”

 

Everyone turned to the curtain at the yell. Sherlock looked at Mycroft again and asked, “I take it that was Natalia?” Once again, Mycroft nodded.

 

Sherlock quickly moved to the curtain before anyone could stop him and slipped through them. He saw Natalia laying in a bed with a woman pressing on her swollen abdomen, making the pregnant girl squirm. She saw Sherlock’s dark form contrast against the starch white curtain and looked to him and said, “She’s making him move. He just kicked something that hurt!”

 

“Are you the father?” the woman asked, looking up from Natalia’s stomach and directly at Sherlock with a cold glare. Sherlock, out of his comfort zone, shook his head. He earned a frown in return and was told, “Then you need to get on the other side of that curtain. Now.”

 

“No,” Natalia quickly interjected, “he’s welcome. You can come over, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock paled as he felt his feet move slowly forward against his will. As he got closer, he could see the angry red line on her temple and frowned. It would leave a scar and her hair would most likely not grow along that line but it was shallow enough that it didn’t need stitches.

“Are you a doctor?” Sherlock finally managed to speak as he sat on the bed next to Natalia to keep some distance but still be able to observe her examination. 

 

“I am. I’m a gynecologist. You can call me Dr. Weiss,” the woman said as she took the stethoscope that rest on her neck and listened to Natalia’s lungs. Sherlock took this moment to deduce the doctor and found only positive things. He deduced that she was a clean woman in her early forties, happily married by the state of her polished and plain gold wedding band, and a fan of simplicity by the absence of the engagement ring and other gaudy jewelry. He judged from her hips that she had bared at least two children and that she actively worked out by her toned arms that were still distinguishable through her white jacket. Most of all, she was clean and tidy.

 

Sherlock watched uncomfortably as the doctor’s hand slid underneath Natalia’s black sweater to listen to her vitals. He turned his head to offer a moment of privacy to her and heard his name called.

 

“Sherlock, you can’t be in there!” John called out him from the other side of the curtain. He rolled his eyes as he heard Mycroft say, “Yes, please give the girl some privacy. She’s not a science experiment.”

 

The doctor pulled away from Natalia and called out toward the curtain, “It’s alright, she’s given him consent to be in here. I’ll send him back when I need to do the pelvic examination.”

 

Sherlock’s heart raced when he heard that and he frowned even more than he had already been and asked nervously, “Pelvic examination?”

 

Natalia and Dr. Weiss laughed at Sherlock’s reaction as he quickly stood up and walked back. He heard the doctor say, “Well, it’s a good thing he isn’t the father!”

 

Everyone had an amused look on their face as Sherlock reappeared on the opposite side of the curtain. Everyone except for Molly who looked confused and worried. He had a lot on his mind with the fact that the people he cared about most were almost killed because of him again, he had to question Natalia but he realized he had to be patient, and he needed to discover a way to bring down Moriarty for the second time. 

 

The humor of the moment was lost as Sherlock’s phone rang and he said, ‘I don’t know this number.“ He nearly growled at the phone and John urged him to answer it. He did put it on speaker and placed the phone on the table for everyone to hear.

 

“Oh, Sherly, I knew you’d pick up!”

 

The voice was clearly Moriarty’s and it made everyone go pale. Even the movement behind the curtain had stopped. Everyone’s attention was directed at the phone.

 

“We’re playing this game again, are we?” Sherlock muttered with a hint of arrogance. He had to play along with Moriarty in order to get any information out of him. Moriarty laughed and it sent a shiver up his spine. 

 

The criminal mastermind let out a long sigh after calming himself and said, “I’m not playing with you anymore, Sherly. I’ve found myself someone MUCH more interesting. It’s quite funny because I thought _you_ were the interesting Holmes brother.”

 

“Oh, is there something you want from me?” Mycroft asked with annoyance. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stared at the phone bitterly. 

 

“Yay! You’re there! That’s good because I hate having to repeat myself. It gets _sooooo_ boring,” was the response to Mycroft. He sighed and looked up at Sherlock who motioned him to continue talking.

 

Mycroft bit on the inside of his cheek and said, “I’m guessing that it’s more boring than trying to kill women pregnant with your offspring.”

 

There was silence for a moment and Mycroft thought that perhaps the lunatic had hung up but then the tone he returned with was fierce and angry, “What kind of sick fuck do you think I am? I couldn’t give a damn about Natalia but I want my child and I will have him!”

 

“Your hitman almost killed the mother of your child, James. A bullet skimmed her head. It’s a miracle she’s alive. Tell Moran he’s getting sloppy,” Mycroft told him and as he hoped by calling out Moran, Moriarty gave him the sniper’s identity by stating, “That wasn’t Moran, you troll. I sent _The Wasp_. Such a stupid nickname but he had orders to kill the old bird, not Natalia. I guess I should let you know to expect a present in the river in say... _two hourssss_ , maybe three.”

 

Mrs. Hudson let out a small cry and Sherlock stepped over to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, blocking Dr. Thompson from comforting her first. He hadn’t deduced anything negative about the man besides the fact that he was obviously smitten with his landlady and that was enough to irritate him.

 

“You’re confessing to murder then,” Mycroft stated and received a chuckle in response followed by, “Charge me with what you like, Iceman, it makes no difference to little old me.”

 

Sherlock was getting annoyed, realizing they were off the topic and asked, “What do you want with my brother that you can’t get from me?”

 

Moriarty laughed, “Ah, very good, Sherly! You always keep me focused. I get sidetracked so easily these days what with the plans to start a family and destroy the British government. Oh, and I forgot, I was thinking about dabbling in some bioterrorism for a laugh. Not sure on that one yet, though. With a baby on the way, I don’t need to start filling the streets with disease!”

 

“What a considerate parent you are,” John mumbled, rolling his eyes. 

 

“Is that Dr. Watson I hear? How’s that pesky little tremor of yours? I heard the boys at the shooting range say you can’t keep your aim anymore. You poor thing. Perhaps it’s time for you to retire? Hm?” Moriarty shot at John. Sherlock looked at John with a furrowed brow as John froze and then slipped his shooting hand into his coat pocket. He was purposely avoiding Sherlock’s stare. 

 

Mycroft recalled his attention, “Is there a purpose to this call, James?”

 

“Right, sidetracked again! You Holmes boys are so good for me. I guess this is the part where I give you my demands,” Moriarty said with a carefree tone that made everyone more hesitant than when he was in a bad mood.

 

Natalia appeared from the curtains, followed by Dr. Weiss who did not look pleased that Natalia was walking around. She spoke up, “Jim, it’s Natalia.”

 

“Oh, I’m surprised you’re there! You’ve been a quiet little ducky tonight, haven’t you? Let me tell you, boys, she is not always so quiet if you catch my drift,” the criminal laughed. Natalia looked like she was going to be sick but calmed herself as he continued, “ _Antwaysss_ , I’ll be arranging transport for you, darling. I want you having the best care possible to bring my little boy into this world.”

 

Mycroft growled, “If you think we’d hand over Natalia to you, you are crazier than you let on.”

 

Moriarty hummed with pleasure, “A challenge! Are you _really_ sure you want to do that, Mr. Holmes?”

 

John glared at Mycroft and he met his stare. The doctor shook his head, knowing that tempting the mad man would end badly for all of them. Mycroft felt compelled to agree with his stare and sighed in defeat, “No, I don’t want a challenge.”

 

“Good!” Moriarty exclaimed, “I’ll be arranging for her pick up then.”

 

“No!” Natalia yelled, “I don’t want to be anywhere near you, you pig!”

 

A deep laugh filled the room as Moriraty asked, “Are you already fond of that bunch? Spare me your typical emotions, Natalia. That lot couldn’t give a damn about you and I’m sure they are planning any way imaginable to hurt our baby.”

 

“We’re not as disgusting as you’d like to believe!” Mycroft exclaimed though looking at Natalia’s swollen abdomen, he realized it would have been easier if there wasn’t a baby for Moriarty to have a stake in. Natalia caught Mycroft’s stare and a worried look fell on her face and she quickly guarded her stomach with her hands. she turned her head and caught Sherlock looking as well. She turned once more and saw that John and Irene were staring also.

 

“Maybe we should go lay down,” Dr. Weiss said quietly and tried to lead Natalia back behind the curtain. She pulled away and said, “No, I’ll go back. With Jim.”

 

“What?!” Mrs. Hudson couldn’t help by yell, jumping up and throwing the blanket off her shoulders. It was enough to surprise even Sherlock who stepped back in fear at her rage as she went on, “After what I just went through because of you, there is no way you get to stroll out of here and give that man what he wants!”

 

Natalia was taken back by Mrs. Hudson’s outburst and she found herself with nothing to say. The older woman was staring daggers at her and she became thankful when Moriarty broke the silence, “Well, how about we all take a breather.”

 

The tension in the room was so thick that it felt like it was choking them all. Silence fell on them again for several moments before Moriarty asked, “Is little Miss Molly Hooper there?”

 

Everyone turned to look at Molly. She looked around hesitantly and frowned. She took several steps to the table and looked at Sherlock. He wouldn’t meet her eyes with his but he nodded to the phone.

 

“Yes, Jim?” Molly asked, feeling her knees go weak. She just wanted to be forgotten. After everything that had happened with Jim and Sherlock’s Fall, she just wanted life to be as it was. 

 

“Moran wanted to give you props for your darling little escape today. It took even me for a loop,” he gushed with surprise in his voice. Molly looked up at Mycroft seeing as how Sherlock wasn’t looking at her. Like his brother, he nodded to the phone as well.

 

With a shaky breath, Molly asked, “Why did you send someone to kill me?”

 

“It was only fair,” Moriarty said as if it were obvious, “I mean, my plan was fully realized when we were dating but the fact of the matter is that you lost my child.”

 

“It wasn’t my fault,” Molly said through gritted teeth as she held back tears. A confused look fell on Mycroft and Natalia’s faces and they both looked to Sherlock. He muttered quietly, “She miscarried his child before the Fall.”

 

Moriarty growled angrily at Molly, “You’re a filthy lying bitch, Molly Hooper! You knew you were pregnant and you handled all those chemicals in the morgue. You knew what would happen and you did it intentionally.”

 

“I had to work!” Molly exclaimed, tears falling from her eyes now. She was shaking and Sherlock knew he couldn’t ignore her any longer. He swept over to her and held her tightly. She sobbed into his chest as clutched his coat, taking comfort in the texture of the wool underneath her fingertips.

 

“ _GOD!_ ” Moriarty exclaimed, “You people are so annoying!”

 

Sherlock looked to Mycroft and then nodded toward the phone, “I think we’ve had enough.”

 

Mycroft agreed and said, “James, call back when you mean to talk business and not just to upset the ladies of our group.”

 

“Oh,” Moriarty said coldly, “I’ll tell you my business. I will kill every single one of you and I’ll save Natalia for last. And don’t think I’m keeping this between us. I have plans for London as well but I’m not going to tell you just yet.”

 

“You’re crazier than you were before,” John spoke up, glaring at the phone and wanting to throw it against the wall. 

 

“You’d do well to remember that,” Moriarty growled but then his voice suddenly lifted and sounded cheerful, “Right-O. Time for daddy to make some plans and pick out a color for the nursery. Tootles!”

 

The line went dead and so did the spirits of everyone in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I haven't been keeping up with updates but I'm leaving the country tomorrow for 7 months! I'll be backpacking Europe and won't have a laptop. I will be traveling with my iPad so I may attempt to do some writing but it's just not as productive. I will try my best to update at least 1-2 times a month while I'm gone. If I go more than 2 weeks without an update, message me or something as a reminder to get my ass in gear, ok?! Take care and thanks to everyone who has read up to this so far! It means a lot as this is my first Sherlock fanfic and I'm so hesitant about it!


	11. Chapter 11

"I didn't suspect tonight would be a danger night," Mycroft spoke, coming up to Sherlock as he stood outside of the barracks where the regular men under Mycroft's command slept. The younger Holmes was wrapped up tightly in his jacket and scarf, holding a cigarette in his hand. His fingers were numb from the the exposure to the cold air but he didn't care for a moment since until that moment he had some semblance of peace. The cogs and wheels in his head were turning and Mycroft could tell when he had seen him from quite a distance.

 

Without even turning to look at his brother, Sherlock took a drag of the cigarette and replied, "What is your excuse? You smelled like an ashtray the second I saw you when I arrived."

 

Mycroft sighed and stepped to stand beside his brother, looking out onto a dark and barren field frozen from the winter away from the hustle of the center of the compound. He looked at his sibling, pointing to his own head and asked, "What's going on up there? You know this is as much my fight now as it is yours. It looks like I'm finally getting what I wanted by having you work with me. I didn't expect it to be so bittersweet."

 

Sherlock scoffed, "Spare me your inner turmoil, Mycroft. Had you stayed away from me as I repeatedly requested through my life, you wouldn't even have to worry about this. Better yet, had you locked away Moriarty for life when you had him, no one would ever have to worry about this."

 

Mycroft agreed by simply saying, "I know."

 

With a furious look on his face, Sherlock spun around, "Do you realize how disgusting this is? Truly realize? He's been raping women to produce children and if the results aren't to his liking, he kills them. This is a new form of low and you gave him the freedom to do so."

 

Mycroft chewed on the inside of his lip and regretted the words that spilled, "What he did to Molly happened before I had any involvement." It was the truth but it pulled at Sherlock's deeply settled emotions. He shoved Mycroft angrily, throwing the cigarette to the ground before doing so and yelled, "It's not just about her, you pompous arse!"

 

"Of all the things I've ever had to do deal with, nothing is so abrasive as the crimes Moriarty has committed against these women. He's taken away their consent and their right to reproduce at their own accord. And then he takes their life. This isn't simple murder, Mycroft. I can handle murder but this is an entirely elevated level of disturbing," Sherlock spoke quickly and passionately. 

 

There were several intense moments of silence as the brothers stared at each. The passion in Sherlock's eyes was something Mycroft hadn't seen before even in the most challenging or thrilling cases. What broke the eye lock was movement behind Mycroft that Sherlock moved his head to look at.

 

"Lestrade."

 

"Sherlock."

 

"Shall I give you two some time to catch up?" Mycroft asked, looking at his brother. Sherlock shook his head, "I imagine he'd rather speak with you since he's so far up your fat arse." He turned on his heel and quickly walked away before either of the other two men could protest.

 

Mycroft let out a loud sigh as an invitation for Greg to speak. He had been around Mycroft enough to know his signs. He spoke, "Everything is secure, sir. I set two female guards up with Molly and Mrs. Hudson to stay in their quarters. Miss Messina is under heavy guard as you asked."

 

Mycroft turned to face Greg and said kindly, "You don't need to call me 'sir' and I know you know that." Greg smirked, "I know but I figured since we are under more stress than usual, it would probably be best not to act like we play favorites."

 

It was Mycroft's turn to smirk and he responded sarcastically, "What made you think you were one of my favorites?"

 

Greg chuckled, "Keeping Sherlock alive and out of prison might have something to do with it."

 

The two men smiled warmly at each other. It was a light joke but also very true. Sherlock had been in a fair amount of trouble almost a decade before when his dabbling in drugs turned into a full blown addiction. It was how the two men had first met. Mycroft would bail Sherlock out and then attempt to use his power and influence to make the charges disappear. It worked a few times until Greg had been promoted to Detective Inspector and then put a stop to it. He focused his efforts toward helping Sherlock rather than give him incentive to act like he was invincible. Mycroft initially detested Greg but when Sherlock had successfully cleaned up, it was evident that he was one of the biggest reasons for it. He warmed up to Greg rather quickly after that.

 

"He's going to be the death of me, Greg, I am absolutely positive of it." Mycroft sighed, pinching he bridge of his nose with his black leather gloved hand. Greg gave him a sad smile and told him, "I know you don't want to hear this but I actually think for once it's not his fault."

 

Mycroft frowned and said, "Not you, too! I'm aware I let James Moriarty go. Can we stop reminding me?!"

 

"That's not even it, Mycroft. It's not about blame right now," Greg said firmly, standing strong against his employer. Mycroft rolled his eyes and asked, "Than what is this about? I'm must know so we can move on from this aggravation."

 

Greg sighed and said, "You're the Iceman, Mycroft. We've all known it for a long time. Even though we always say that Sherlock is a robot, he has managed to become more human. I always said he was a great man. I said he might someday be a good one. I think he has finally become one."

 

"And what does this have to do with me?" Mycroft growled, annoyed that yet another person applauded Sherlock's learned sentiments. He considered the emotions he displayed to be flaws and weaknesses. Greg saw Sherlock going from a great man to a good man as being a compliment. He saw it as highly insulting.

 

"Like Sherlock said, Moriarty is doing terrible things to these women. You have two of his victims in your custody and you couldn't give a damn about what happened to them. You don't even understand how big of a tragedy that is. You're worried about your own ass," Greg explained with aggravation.

 

Mycroft replied coldly, "What's done is done. I can't change what happened to those women but I can stop him to spare others from any other plans he has. For heaven's sake, Greg, he's talking about taking down the government."

 

"Which is terrible," Greg quickly said, "and obviously we need to figure that out but just act like you give a damn about these women. Especially poor Molly since we all know her and Sherlock are in love with each other."

 

Mycroft frowned and said knowingly, "We all know Molly is in love with my brother. My brother in love with her? I highly doubt it, Greg.

 

Greg smirked, "You really don't know Sherlock anymore, Mycroft. He doesn't even know himself and what he's capable of."

 

Without another word, Greg simply nodded and started to walk in the same direction Sherlock had gone toward the center of the base. Even though the cold was bothering him, Mycroft ignored it and went walking to one of the furtherest buildings along the edge of the compound. It was where he was heading originally.

 

Anthea had shown up at the compound not long after the phone call with Moriarty. She demanded to be isolated in the building, claiming it smelled the least like a farm and with the background searches she would be performing of the personnel on site, it seemed best to not give them any unnecessary reasons for suspicion or fear. Mycroft agreed with her and allowed her to take a utility vehicle up to the site. He walked instead of taking one himself just to give himself some time to think and to sneak a smoke while walking through the small wooded area. That separated the building from the rest of the compound.

 

Mycroft lit the cigarette he had taken from another agent and enjoyed it as he walked through the trail in the woods, following the tracks left by the utility vehicles that traveled it. He could barely see where he was going. The moonlight filtering through the canopy of leaves and branches was barely adequate enough to keep to the trail. Behind him he could hear the sounds of the compound and with every step they became quieter.

 

The words Greg had spoken to him spun around his mind, making him feel almost dizzy as he tried to figure out how best to not only handle the situation but his group as well because he knew from his own experiences at helping bring down corrupt governments and crime rings that if he didn't provide an atmosphere of trust that things would be that much easier for Moriarty to collapse.

 

Mycroft was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't realized that there was someone following him until he heard the snap of a twig. He dropped the cigarette, spun and grabbed the gun that had sitting in his coat pocket. He had left the holster in his sleeping quarters when he realized it was pointless to wear in the layers of clothes he needed to stay warm.

 

"My, my, Mr. Holmes. Are we a bit antsy tonight?"

 

Mycroft lowered his gun and sighed with only some relief that it was The Woman. He didn't pocket the weapon and asked, "Is there a reason you're following me?"

 

Irene smiled, her perfect white teeth almost glowing in the dark, and approached Mycroft. She hugged herself to keep warm and said smugly, "I'm just checking up on our little Anthea."

 

Mycroft frowned; no one knew she was there besides the two of them. Before he could argue or protest, Irene slipped an arm with his own and began to lead him through the trail. He pocketed his gun with his free hand. She stared straight ahead and said, "Tell me, Mr. Holmes, how are you doing this evening?"

 

The simple question caught him off guard and he looked confused at the dominatrix. She looked to him and smiled. He thought about it and didn't know how to truly answer even if he would never tell her that answer.

 

"I'm adequate."

 

"Funny."

 

"I fail to see what's funny," Mycroft stated. He looked at her again and she said, "Oh, it's nothing."

 

There was a long pause and Irene continued, "Your brother said the exact same thing only fifteen minutes ago. He, too, didn't seemed pleased to see me."

 

"Perhaps he would have enjoyed your company more had you not abused his trust. Still, I imagine he'd enjoy it more than myself," Mycroft said rudely. Irene sighed and squeezed his arm, dare he say it, affectionately.

 

"We've developed a mutual respect for one another. I'm sure we could enjoy each other's company if it weren't for the object of his affection that he was heading to and me to mine," she explained.

 

Mycroft stopped walking and stared blankly at the Woman. She smiled at him slyly and said, "You do know your brother is sweet on little Miss Molly Hooper, right?"

 

"I've been told," Mycroft stated, "but I must inform you that I am not interested in your advances."

 

Irene's laughter filled the woods and he felt his face get warm and red from the uncomfortableness of the situation. He frowned deeply and pulled his arm away from her, trying to compose himself.

 

"Oh, Mycroft," Irene said warmly, "I wasn't talking about you."

 

A confused looked fell over his face and he stared at her, awaiting clarification. It took a few seconds and it suddenly hit him and he felt slightly common for a moment.

 

"You're sleeping with my secretary."

 

This time Irene frowned and she responded, "We are both aware she's not your secretary but your understudy and we do more than _sleep_."

 

"I'm not interested in her and your sex lives," Mycroft said quickly, still feeling the burning in his warm face against the cold night air. He wanted to escape more than anything. Irene smiled at him and said, "For what it's worth, I'm crazy about her. More so than I was with your brother."

 

Mycroft shook his head, "I don't know why you're telling me this. I don't know what you think you'll gain by manipulating..."

 

Irene cut him off, "For once, this isn't a game. I'm in love with Anthea, Mycroft, and I thought you should know."

 

"Are you asking my approval?" Mycroft asked sarcastically. She shook her head and and responded with annoyance, "I'm asking you not hold it against her. She tells me nothing, your secrets are safe."

 

Mycroft frowned and replied snidely, "So, you just happened to find Molly Hooper running from an assassin by random. How convenient for us."

 

Irene rolled her eyes, grabbed Mycroft's arm again and urged him to continue walking to get to the building and out of the cold faster. She spoke as they walked, "She keeps track of me, Mr. Holmes. She chipped my phone so she alone can track me. She saw I was close to Miss Hooper's whereabouts and time was of the essence."

 

"I'm not happy about this, I hope you understand," Mycroft firmly said and nothing else. Irene smiled and hugged even tighter onto his arm as they began to see lights ahead.


	12. Chapter 12

"Thank you, god, thank you. Call me when you get to your mum's," John said with relief into his phone. He sat on a familiar military cot on the phone with his love. Mycroft had her moved out of the city and headed several hours away to stay with her mother before John had guiltily realized he had not considered her amongst the events of the day.

 

"I love you so much, Mary. Please, stay safe and call me if anything happens. I don't care if it's just a spider in your bedroom," the doctor said to her. Her warm laugher calmed him but then she replied seriously, "I love you, John. You be safe as well. I can't imagine losing you so don't make me."

"I wouldn't dream of it. I need to go now though. I love you."

 

John hung up and looked at his phone with guilt and sadness. He should have considered her safety sooner but he was just grateful Mycroft, who annoyingly kept tabs on him, had thought to act. Luckily, she knew about Moriarty and was understanding of what he told her and what he said he couldn't tell her. He knew she was a unique woman to deal with him and all the hectic aspects of his life that were brought on by being Sherlock's partner and room-mate.

 

Glancing around the open room, he was glad Sherlock wasn't there to roll his eyes or make a remark or he might have to hit the man, subtext or not. He loved the man but he could always get rather furious with him just as easily.

 

They had been placed in a small barracks. It seemed to John that it would have probably housed at least a dozen soldiers in bunk beds but had been replaced with only four very basic military cots with lumpy pillows and dusty green wool blankets. There was a roughed up desk pushed against the wall with a tall black filing cabinet that had a dent in it that probably matched up perfectly with a man's head somewhere. Three lights hung from cords with any coverings making it harsh to look too much into the room and one of them hummed while another flickered occasionally. The floor and walls until about a a meter and a half high were of concrete and the rest of the way up and including the ceiling were of wavy roofing metal with black painted wooden braces for support and all with no form of insulation. He could see his breath despite the best efforts of the space heaters provided.

 

John had indeed stayed in worse but he figured since his active duty had ended, so did his obligations to stay in conditions such as this. He knew they were under a lot of stress but he had hoped for warmer and more hospitable accommodations. He really didn't want to relive his time in the military and he was feeling constantly short of a panic attack or episode. The brief few minutes on the phone with Mary had calmed him down more than he could imagine but he was still on edge.

 

Looking down, John noticed his hand shaking. He clenched it tightly and opened it again, spreading his fingers and trying to trick his hand into believing he was ok, just tense muscles from the cold. He was furious when Moriarty had called him out on it. He had been doing a more than adequate job keeping it from Sherlock. It had only been for a few months and he chalked it up to working on some rather exhausting cases with Sherlock as well as providing free medical care to Sherlock's homeless network. 

 

John enjoyed everything in his life. He loved the cases, he actually really enjoyed the shady places he went to to treat the people Sherlock relied on often, he had great times with Sherlock despite the aggravation he caused, he was beyond thrilled to have Mary in his life, and yet here he was still suffering from the wars of his life.

 

His therapist said it would get better. She said if he was seeking help, over time it would improve. His flashbacks could be all but gone in a few years but it had been over a few years by a long shot now. Granted, she had said that before he had met Sherlock and the time up until The Fall, he had been almost free of any episodes, tremors, or limping. 

 

The time spent after The Fall was harder for him than it was for the war but the two experiences found ways to form a hybrid that made more things than ever act as a trigger. He feared so much but swallowed those fears so that he could continue to live his life. He noticed other physical changes that he couldn't deny were from the stressors of his life. He had more wrinkles on his face and his hair, which was already a sandy blonde and salt & pepper mix was starting to obtain more white. If it weren't for the fact that Mary would kiss every wrinkle and enjoyed playing with his hair and noted its color with fondness, he'd be much more concerned about those things.

 

There was a knock at the door though it was really more of a banging and the fact that it echoed through the nearly bare room made it sound louder and more aggressive than it really was. He stood up from the cot and turned towards the door. As he did, he felt a tightness in his leg that bordered on pain. He gave it a quick shake and ignored it as he walked to the door. He pushed the metal door open and was met with Greg's face. He was smiling and hugging himself as he shivered in the cold.

 

"Greg!" John exclaimed, "Come in!"

 

Greg quickly slipped inside and John closed the door behind him. He turned to noticed that Greg had a pack on his back and asked, "You bunking with Sherlock and I?"

 

"Yeah, I hope you don't mind. I figured I'd knock in case you wanted privacy," Greg explained and continued, "They were going to put other men on for your security but I knew Sherlock might cause some problems."

 

"Whatever do you mean?" John tried to say with a straight face and the two men burst out laughing. As they were, the door opened and Sherlock stepped inside, his pale face red from the cold. He frowned at the laughter and said, "I know when you're talking about me."

 

"Your ears burning, eh?" Greg said with a chuckle. Sherlock frowned, "What are you doing in here, Lestrade? Don't you belong with the rest of Mycroft's minions?"

 

John frowned at Sherlock's more than normal rude attitude but said nothing. Greg didn't let Sherlock's mood upset him and said with a content look, "They needed security in here. It was either me or anyone else who probably won't have the patience for you that I have."

 

"How generous of you," Sherlock muttered as he swept over to a space heater to warm himself up. Not directly looking at the other two men he asked, "Have either one of you seen Molly? I checked in the barracks Mycroft put her and The Woman in but she wasn't there. The guards wouldn't let me check elsewhere."

 

Greg frowned and responded, "That doesn't sound right. You lot are supposed to have full access. Except for Natalia, of course."

 

Sherlock looked at him, "I made that incorrect assumption as well and was almost manhandled to get back here. My cellphone has been having shoddy service or else I'd call Mycroft about the imbeciles he has working for him."

 

There was a slight pause and Sherlock added, "No offense."

 

"None taken," Greg grumbled. He took his phone from his pocket and said, "That's odd. I had full service all night until now. Maybe it's the metal walls in here or something."

 

Sherlock followed Greg as he stepped outside into the even colder air and John joined after putting on his jacket. They all had their phones out but couldn't get signal. Sherlock looked around and could see more of Mycroft's agents as they were stepping out of their barracks with cellphones held up like themselves.

 

"Someone's jamming the signal!" Sherlock exclaimed upon realizing and looked at the the two men, "Find Molly, find Natalia!"

 

Before any of them had a chance to move, an explosion was heard across the compound and only seconds afterwards followed by another. Greg grabbed John by his arm and said, "We'll get Natalia. Sherlock, find Molly and Mrs. Hudson!"

 

Agents were rushing out of the barracks, some tugging on the last of the gear as they headed toward the sounds of the explosions. Sherlock turned and ran in the opposite direction toward Molly's barracks to see if she had perhaps returned.

 

The guard that had stopped him when searching for Molly not more than fifteen minutes prior stood before him. He had a smile on his face and a calm demeanor. He lowered the shield on his helmet so his grin was the only visible part of his face. Sherlock frowned and quickly realized the man was an intruder.

 

Sherlock wasn't armed and unfortunately the man was and heavily so. As the man began to raise his gun, Sherlock did the only thing he could think of and ran toward him. With a war cry that could rival any civilization, he tackled the man and felt rather than heard the gun fire.

 

As the two men fell to the ground, Sherlock was certain he was hit. His side burned fiercely but he still felt strong and so he wrestled with the stranger. Grabbing his face shield, he controlled his head, smashing it off the ground several times before the man managed to push him off.

 

With a sick thud, Sherlock's head connected with a rock nestled snugly in the ground. He groaned and felt dizzy for a moment as he watched three of the man get off of him to retrieve the gun that had managed to come free from his grasp during the fall.

 

Sherlock's heart was pounding in his ears and he couldn't muster the strength or coordination to get off of the cold ground. He just barely pushed himself up to a sitting position when the man raised his weapon to aim at him. 

 

This was the end, Sherlock thought, and so he closed his eyes. He felt like time was at a standstill and all he could even think about were two specific thoughts. The first being that he regretted scoffing at John's answer when they had first met about what he would be thinking if he thought he was about to die for he was surely begging to live. The second thought was that he wished these few seconds would not drag so slowly and just be over.

 

Sherlock thought he heard his name being called out. It was soft yet fierce and he thought that maybe he was pulled from his body and already dead but then he heard the firing of the gun and suddenly he was back. He looked in front of him to see the stranger fall to his knees and then on his face. 

 

Quickly patting his own body down, Sherlock realized he was indeed alive and he cringed at the pain at his side. He thankfully discovered that the man had shot through his coat and that he was only burned from being directly along side the barrel of the gun.

 

Sherlock looked around and frowned when he saw who had saved him for he knew that taking a life was difficult and this was one person who should not have to live with that burden.

 

"Molly."

 

The small woman was trembling, holding the gun in her hands and staring ahead at nothing particular. Sherlock got up as quickly as he could to cautiously approach her. He spoke calmly and simply to her to avoid her reacting negatively to the shock she was already in.

 

"Molly, it's Sherlock. I'm going to take the gun from you so just relax," He said as he stood beside her and slowly reached for the gun. His hands wrapped around the top of gun, avoiding squeezing her hand or covering the barrel. The metal was surprisingly cold as if it hadn't even been fired and Sherlock knew that it wasn't right.

 

Sherlock turned his head quickly, sweeping his surroundings again and saw John staring at him calmly, gun in hand but lowered. and said, "How many times am I going to have to save your arse, Sherlock?"

 

Sherlock pulled the gun safely from Molly and checked that the safety was on. He pocketed the weapon and pulled Molly close to him. He could see John out of the corner of his eye approach them now.

 

"Molly, it wasn't you. You didn't shoot him. It's ok," Sherlock said softly to her as he hugged her. John frowned and spoke as well, saying something nearly identical. 

 

It was quiet around them as most of the personnel on the compound had ran toward the explosions. Sherlock looked to John, "Thank you, but what happened to Lestrade and Natalia?"

 

"I realized you were going unarmed and I know trouble follows you," John replied.

 

"It wasn't me?"

 

The words were hardly more than a whisper but Sherlock managed to catch them as they escaped Molly's lips. He hugged her even tighter and felt her arms start to move to embrace him. John smiled and patted her shoulder, "You're good, Molly. You didn't even fire the gun."

 

As happy as Sherlock was that she hadn't fired the gun and she was coming back to herself, he realized they were sitting ducks. He let go of Molly rather quickly and said, "We need to get out of here and find someplace to hide!"

 

"What about the others?" John asked. Sherlock frowned and replied, "I can't speak for Lestrade or Natalia but Mycroft and The Woman went to a remote spot on the compound. I imagine they're safe. We just need to find Mrs. Hudson."

 

"She's safe. Mrs. Hudson's safe," Molly spoke, unsure of her voice. The two men looked relieved, "Dr. Thompson took her. He gave me the gun when I went to find you."

 

John nodded and looked around. He ushered the two to follow him as he moved toward one of the buildings. Sherlock grabbed Molly by her arm and pulled her along with him, staying behind the armed doctor.

 

The trio stood with their backs against the wall of the building and John peeked around the corner, his gun ready to shoot at a moments notice. His hand was shaking slightly but he was thankful it wasn't as bad it could be. Sherlock held the gun he taken from Molly and checked to make sure it was ready to fire. Content that it was, he kept his guard up more than usual now that they were trapped in a deadly game.

 

Gun shots could be heard where the explosions had occurred and the screaming of men and women traveled fast through the frigid night air. It made Molly feel sick to her stomach and her eyes began to water. She had no time to dwell on it as John gave the ok to move and Molly was dragged again by the consulting detective.

 

There was a utility vehicle nearly 100 meters out but it was an open target and John wasn't confident that the conflict was concentrated to the far side of the compound. He looked back at Sherlock and said, "Instead of hiding, should we dash for the vehicle and get as far from here as we can?"

 

Louder than the first ones, an explosion ripped across the compound that could also be seen instead of just heard. The screams were worse and a wave of heat washed over them as they turned back in horror.

 

"Can't we help them?" Molly asked, terror laced in her words. Sherlock frowned and said replied, "We are barely able to help ourselves."

 

A look of guilt washed over John's face as he had been taught and lived up to the values and morals of the military and one of the lessons learned was to not leave behind a fellow solider. They might be agents of a secret government organization rather than the military but he knew their lives were just as important.

 

Sherlock looked at him and could tell the conflict happening in the older man's head and said, "There's nothing we can do. We don't have any way to defend ourselves."

 

"But Sherlock," Molly began to say before she screamed as a bullet hit the wall of the building they were standing at, missing her head by inches. The two men looked around spastically and Sherlock covered Molly with his body, holding the gun out with his left hand, ready to shoot at the first thing he saw move.

 

There was no sign of movement for a few seconds but then John saw something the others didn't and began to fire without remorse. A man fell from the roof of one of the buildings and John said, "Let's move, now!"

 

The three of them ran to the vehicle but John slowed down and began to run backwards as best as he could to provide cover for the others. Nothing came at them and they loaded into the unprotected vehicle. 

 

The keys were in the ignition and Sherlock quickly started the small engine. "Can you drive?" John asked hesitantly and was answered by Sherlock hitting the gas, sending them back into the uncomfortable plastic seats. 

 

Sherlock headed towards the edge of the woods where he had last seen his brother. He knew from what he had heard from Greg that there was a small building through the trees and he figured it would be his best shot at some form of safety and cover.

 

They rode along the edge of the compound as fast as the vehicle would allow. It was small and meant for off-roading, making it ideal as they finally reached the woods and road over less than smooth trails.

 

Molly sat on the front bench with Sherlock as John kept an eye out for threats from the back bench. It was just like Afghanistan for him and while he loved the thrill, he knew he would hate all of this once the adrenaline wore off and he would have to return to regular life.

 

There was a glimmer of hope that began to grow as they eventually spotted lights ahead. John saw movement out of the corner of his eye and raised his gun. Molly saw him do so and turned to look at what he saw and screamed, "Don't!"

 

John fired the gun but had jerked his arm to break his aim before he did so. Sherlock slammed on the brakes, sending Molly forward, almost hitting her head off the low plastic that acted as some form or a windshield. 

 

Sherlock cut the engine to hear the sounds in the woods and heard a familiar whimper. He yelled out, "Mrs. Hudson?!"

 

"Sherlock?! Is that you?" The familiar voice called out. John felt a wave of nausea as he realized he had almost shot his landlady.

 

There was much rustling of leaves and sticks as Mrs. Hudson along with Dr. Thompson came into view. Their clothes were a mess and Mrs. Hudson sported a large cut across her right cheek. Dr. Thompson was bleeding from the top of his head, fresh blood slowly running down the side mixed with dry blood as well, and staining his white hair. He held a gun in his left hand and said to John, "You better watch it, boy, that's not a toy."

 

John blushed and fumbled with an apology, "I am so sorry, I truly am. We've been under attack..."

 

"Calm down, we know. Brian almost shot Natalia so don't worry," Mrs. Hudson said rather calmly as if it were not a big deal. Sherlock perked up at the mention of Natalia and asked, "Where is Natalia? Was she with Greg?"

 

Dr. Thompson spoke up, "She was tending to some shot agents. We couldn't get her to leave despite her being the main target."

 

John felt the tinge of guilt for not going back to help grow even more at the mention of the young, pregnant, and very much in danger paramedic. She was helping despite the other disadvantages he used as a reason for himself to not go back. 

 

"Anyways, Mycroft should be up ahead," Dr. Thompson stated, "can we hop on?"

 

John hopped off the bench seat quickly and allowed Mrs. Hudson to be helped by Dr. Thompson. The older man refused John's assistance and John climbed on the back of the vehicle and held onto the back posts for the roof and told Sherlock to continue. He gripped for dear life and felt exposed since he had to pocket his gun.

 

When they pulled up to the small building, there was another vehicle. Sherlock stopped alongside it and the group of them hopped off and moved quickly to the door. It was locked and Sherlock pounded on the door.

 

A few moments later, the door opened and they were met with Mycroft's angry face and he asked, "What are you lot doing here?"

 

"The compound is under attack, you imbecile," Sherlock snarled. Mycroft frowned and asked, "What are you talking about? Nothing has showed up on our monitors."

 

Mrs. Hudson pushed her way through the group of them and protested, "Let me in. I'm freezing!" Mycroft eyed the cut on her face and then looked at the rest of them. He saw the blood on the older doctor and a bruise forming on his brothers cheekbone. His face fell and he turned quickly and yelled to Anthea, "What the hell is going on down there? Why aren't our cameras working?"

 

Mycroft moved to allow the group to enter the small building. It was incredibly warm and they realized it was much more fortified than the rest of the buildings in the compound. The thick walls made it impossible to hear the war in the distance. As Mycroft was about to close the door, he heard an explosion in the compound and paled.

 

Anthea, already looking stressed beyond belief, began to typing furiously and tried to refresh the cameras. She looked panicked at Mycroft and said, "Someone hacked the system and they locked them in a loop. I can only get about half of them to give me a live feed."

 

The Woman had been sitting in the corner of the small room with a mug of coffee in her hands. She was resting on a cot and stood up and offered Molly and Mrs. Hudson the opportunity to sit down. They gratefully accepted. 

 

Sherlock tugged his scarf off and walked around the desks that Anthea was settled behind and looked at the feeds of what was happening in the compound. His eyes flickered quickly, taking in as much as he could. John looked at Dr. Thompson and asked, "Want me to take a look at that? I'm a doctor, too."

 

Dr. Thompson shook his head, "It's quite alright, boy. I'm going to get this cleaned up. Would you mind looking after your landlady? I hate she has to see me like this."

 

John nodded and Mycroft pointed to a door at the back of the room for the bathroom, telling him there was an extensive first aid kid inside.

 

Mrs. Hudson tried to brush Molly off as she looked at the older woman and tried to check the cut on her cheek. "It's but a scratch, dear," she said. John joined them and asked, "At least let us clean it so it doesn't get infected?"

 

There were three other cots pushed against the walls of the small room. It wasn't much bigger than the barracks that John had been in earlier but the empty space was filled with desks and computers and had the addition of a bathroom and a small storage room. It was also insulated and warm enough for him to take his jacket off.

 

"There's Natalia! And there's Greg!" Sherlock exclaimed, pointing to two different screens. Anthea quickly looked and Mycroft stepped closer to get a look as well. He was relieved to see they were both alive and unharmed. 

 

Natalia was covered in blood and holding her hands against a wound on a man's abdomen. They couldn't hear her words as she yelled as the noise around her overwhelmed the speakers. She wasn't wearing a jacket, only the sweater she had been wearing earlier.

 

Greg was seen evacuating his fellow agents. He had no helmet on, making it easy to identify him and that worried them all. He was doing well under the pressure and even Sherlock was a bit impressed as he had always assumed Greg did more posh work for Mycroft. He saw now that he was a very tactical and hands on man more capable of these duties than that of the New Scotland Yard though Sherlock would never admit he found Greg to be the only shred of intelligence in his department.

 

They watched for a few minutes and finally Mycroft tore his eyes from the screen. He looked around the room and watched as John cared for Molly and Mrs. Hudson with assistance from Irene. Dr. Thompson had just exited the bathroom with a bandage on his head, blood cleaned, but hair still stained red. Sherlock looked concerned for either Greg or Natalia, perhaps both, but he wasn't sure. Anthea was pounding on her keyboard in aggravation to get the rest of the cameras working as well as trying to get some form of communication to their personnel to work as the systems had been fully disabled and their cell phones still wouldn't work. 

 

"I'm going down there," Mycroft announced, realizing he had to do something. He was the leader and yet he was standing around helpless and unsure of how to act. 

 

The room became deadly quiet and Sherlock spoke up first, "I'm assuming you mean to offer yourself as a stuffed pig in exchange for peace." 

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and pulled out his gun. He checked it as he always did for going into any situation regardless of having checked it several hours earlier. He looked his brother in the eyes and said, "I am solely responsible for those men and women and I will do what I can to offer some form of leadership despite the chaos."

 

"Mycroft, you can't be serious. You'll be shot on the second they see you," Anthea argued. Her face paled and she had lines of worry etched into her young face. He sighed and said, "If I am, it's all up to you."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I apologize for any typos you encounter. Autocorrect is my worst enemy as I try to write this story on my iPad. Just letting you know I'm trying my best to catch them but sometimes they evade me. That being said, Greetings from Italy!
> 
> In a week I'll be in London!!!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read up to this point so far. You rock!

Natalia's hands burned from the cold as she rinsed her hands with water from a hose. She was painted in blood and did her best to clean her hands to aid another agent. The air was filled with gunfire and explosions but a dozen or so agents had committed to keeping a perimeter secure for her and allowed only injured men and women to pass as she tried her best to help them. Two other agents who had emergency medical training were assisting her. They had produced first aid kits from inside some of the buildings, risking their lives to obtain them as the enemy was dressed as agents, making it hard to distinguish friend from foe.

 

"We have an amputee!" The younger of the two agents helping Natalia screamed. They ran to help another agent bring a man who was missing his left leg from just below the knee. She wiped her hands on her pants for lack of better place and willed the blood to return to her fingers as she ran to aid them.

 

They carried the man clumsily to the side of the building where their makeshift medical station was. Using hand sanitizer on her already abused skin, she went to work quickly to stabilize the man. She quickly applied a tourniquet to his leg just above his knee. She could hardly feel her hands besides the feeling of pins and needles as she turned the bar on it. One of the agents was attempting to check a blood pressure by palpitation rather than by sound simply because it was too loud to hear. The other was applying a pulse oximeter to his finger and frowned at seeing his oxygen levels at 80%. They were down to their last bottle of portable oxygen and he put a non-rebreather on his face and set it to 15 liter of oxygen per minute. He watched the oximeter and waited for the percent to rise.

 

With the tourniquet secure, Natalia called out, "There's nothing more we can do, he needs to be moved out!"

 

The man that had helped bring their patient, who had been watching in horror as Natalia and the other two worked, helped them start to move him. Another man was limping towards them toward the perimeter and the guards moved aside to allow him in. 

 

"You guys move him inside, I'll get this next one. Be careful!" Natalia's told them and rushed to the limping man. He was in full gear and she couldn't see any wounds on him but the all black armor and clothes the agents wore made it hard to tell if their was a gunshot wound at times.

 

"I got you, let's get over to the building and sit you down!" Natalia yelled over the chaos around them and helped the man over to the building. She put his back to the wall and helped him slide down until he was sitting. 

 

"Where are you hurt?" Natalia asked, reaching for the hose again to wash the blood from the last man off her hands. She had used all the gloves that were in the first aid kits and tried her best to limit contamination though it was practically impossible.

 

Natalia heard no answer from the man as she finished rinsing her hands and grabbed for the sanitizer again and applied it to her raw skin with a hiss. She still had no response and grabbed the man's helmet and began to pull it off his head.

 

As she was removing it, she looked over his body to see if she could spot the injury but saw nothing. She moved her eyes back to his head as cleared the helmet from his head and screamed.

 

"Hello, _darling_ ," said James Moriarty. He was pale from the cold and a glimmer of sweat from being in the helmet shined on his forehead. His jet black hair was matted to his forehead and he had a large grin on his face. 

 

No one heard her scream over the noise and before Natalia could get the attention of anyone, Moriarty held a gun up. He looked too pleased with himself as he leaned closer to her so he wouldn't have to raise his voice to be heard and said, "You are quite the challenge, Miss Messina. Now, how about you let daddy take you home?"

 

"I'd rather you kill me," Natalia said through gritted teeth with anger. She was scared beyond belief but disgusted with the man she had called a friend for over three years. She felt stupid now when she remembered six months ago when he had asked her to dinner as a date for the first time.

 

Natalia was bluffing and Moriarty knew it. She wanted to live, fully and truly. She wanted to escape and never hand over her child to the lunatic. She saw out of the corner of her eye one of the agents protecting her fall to the ground. She turned her head and gasped as another fell. 

 

One by one, with only seconds between them, they all fell and Moriarty laughed, "Moran is such a show off!" Natalia felt her stomach turn and when she looked at Moriarty again she couldn't even help it as she felt her stomach turn. Horrified, she realized that she was going to be sick and tried to back away but he grabbed her arm roughly and held her in place. With tears in her eyes, she spit up on his leg.

 

Fury exploded from the tiny man as he shoved her back, pushing the gun deeply into the ribs between her expanded stomach and the underside of her breast. She cried out in pain while coughing on the last of the vomit in her throat. She felt like she was choking and fell onto her back, clawing at the dirt with his numb and stained hands.

 

"You stupid bitch. You fucking whore!" James screamed clearly over the war around them. He got up to stand over her and watched as she struggled to breath. He aimed the gun at her head and said, "I should fucking kill you for being such a pain in my ass!"

 

Natalia was just barely able to clear her lungs of the intruding material and breath but she still coughed uncontrollably. The panic that filled her body wasn't helping as she tried to scoot away though she knew it was a hopeless and useless attempt.

 

Moriarty took a deep breath, calm fell over his features and he lowered the gun. He suddenly smiled in the creepiest way that Natalia had ever seen and it scared her more than his rage. He stepped slowly to her as he pocketed the weapon and said, "You're lucky I don't like to get my hands dirty."

 

He pressed his finger to the earpiece that Natalia hadn't realized he was wearing and spoke into it, "I've got momma, you can send the boys in to pick up this cow."

 

Natalia finally stopped coughing but breathed heavily. She looked up at him with fear, contemplating how to get out of this alive and as far away from the mad man as possible. Moriarty took a step away to reply to something he heard in his earpiece and was getting angry again but his fury was aimed elsewhere and she was relieved. 

 

The perimeter of her vision, Natalia saw movement and eyed the men who had carried the last patient away coming back. She turned her head slightly to look at them and waved her hand as slightly as she could to not draw attention to Moriarty but alert the men. She was relieved they understood quickly and drew their guns and hid in the shadows.

 

Moriarty turned to look at her again, "Sorry about that, you've made a lot of work for daddy these days." She remained silent but he didn't care. She eyed the men in the shadows creeping slowly towards them. Before they could respond, another agent stepped into the light with his gun raised at Moriarty. There was something familiar about him to Natalia but she couldn't quite place it since she couldn't see his face with the helmet and face shield.

 

"Stand down," the man said firmly to Moriarty which earned him an eye roll. He pushed his earpiece and said, "Moran, handle this, _pleaseeee and thanks_."

 

Natalia and Moriarty watched expectantly but nothing happened as the man remained standing with his weapon pointed toward the enemy. Moriarty spoke into his earpiece again but received no response and sighed, "Good help is hard to find these days, isn't it, _Mycroft_?"

 

Natalia's gasped as she realized it was indeed Mycroft and she wondered how Moriarty could tell. She figured he was more familiar than she was with him. She felt embarrassed that twice within less than twelve hours she had to be rescued by him.

 

The men jumped out from the shadows and also held their guns aimed toward the criminal mastermind. Without hesitation, Moriarty dug into his pocket and quickly withdrew his phone. He smiled at Mycroft and said, "I hope you realize I have a backup plan that allows me to stroll off this country trashland."

 

Mycroft kept his gun aimed at Moriarty and used his free hand to remove his helmet. He had an angry look on his face. His hair was a mess and he was sweating despite the cold. He replied, "I'm sure you do but I'd rather let you escape alone than with her."

 

"Do you really think you are in any position to make demands? If I don't get off this property in the next 15 minutes, I won't deactivate the series of bombs set to turn this place into a crater," Moriarty said smoothly. 

 

Moriarty glanced back at Natalia with a grin and then back to Mycroft and said, "You know, I think you just want my toys."

 

"What?" The older man asked with confusion. He also glanced at Natalia. She was staring at him, willing him with her mind to perform a miracle to get them out of this mess like he had done earlier.

 

Moriarty's smile grew and he said, "Maybe I'll let you _borrow_ her and when it's time, I'll come pick her up." He paused and continued, "Besides, I am fully capable of infiltrating your agency as you have just learned and it'd be only too easy for me to retrieve her."

 

"This isn't a game, James," Mycroft argued but Moriarty shot back, "Of course it is! It always is!" 

 

"We have Moran, what do you think you can do without your right hand man?" Mycroft asked with as much bravado as he could muster. He knew it was indeed a bluffing game at this point and while he was telling the truth, he was also scared at the powerhouse that they were holding captive. With Moriarty, nothing was ever as it seemed and he had learned that lesson the hard way.

 

"The clock is ticking, Iceman. I know you're cold but how ruthless can you really be?" Moriarty asked in response. Mycroft frowned and said, "How can you expect me to just let you walk?"

 

Moriarty laughed, "Like this!"

 

With a push of a button on his phone, the building they had been standing by exploded, throwing them all back. Rubble and dirt rained over them and Natalia covered her head as her upper body was pushed to the ground from the force. She began feeling a deep pain in her abdomen. She curled into the fetal position as best she could and screamed in pain.

 

It took a minute for them to regain their bearings and when they looked, Moriarty was gone. Mycroft scrambled to his feet and ran to Natalia as she squirmed on the ground. One of the agents remained on the ground, motionless and dead Mycroft feared. 

 

Natalia pressed her hands to her belly and cried out. Mycroft didn't know what to do but one of the men fell beside her to his knees and pushed her hands aside. He felt her stomach and yelled, "She's having contractions, keep her calm!"

 

Mycroft stumbled forward, unsure of what to do but fell to his knees as well and offered a hand to her. She took it readily and squeezed it tightly. He used his free hand to brush her dark hair from her face. She looked up at him with fear through the tears that filled her eyes.

 

The agent began to knead Natalia's abdomen firmly and the other was trying to guide Natalia's breathing though she didn't break eye contact with Mycroft. He attempted to will her to calm herself as he looked at her. He was unsure of how else to help.

 

They had been clasping hands but Natalia twisted her hand and laced her fingers with Mycroft's and squeezed. He actually preferred the change and it relieved the pressure she could exert on his hand this way. He also thought it felt comforting to himself as well. She didn't think he realized it but his thumb was rubbing on her hand as he held it. She felt relieved to have comfort from the nervous man.

 

The pain started to subside and Natalia was able to relax more. Mycroft looked at he agent rubbing her abdomen and asked what he was doing. The man responded, "Massaging the uterus, it helps to stop it from contracting. I can't say if the baby is ok, especially after everything that's been happening."

 

Mycroft looked to the other man and ordered, "Find a stretcher and let's get her out of here." The man responded with a quick, "Yes, sir!" He was off faster than Mycroft expected. 

 

Looking around, Mycroft heard first the calm that was falling over the compound. He then saw the the end of the conflict afterwards as his men were able to walk around with less alarm. He didn't even know where he was going to begin. 

 

"Mycroft!"

 

The man turned his head to the sound of his name and saw Greg running over to him. He slid to his knees upon seeing Natalia on the ground, "Christ, I'm sorry. I've been looking for her the whole time!" He reached over and took her free hand in his, "Are you ok, I'm so sorry."

 

Panic and worry filled his voice and Natalia tried to give him a reassuring smile but couldn't and croaked, "I think I'm good. No worries, I didn't exactly try to get out of here."

 

Greg looked at her with confusion and Mycroft added, "She bravely stayed behind to treat injured agents." His face dropped in shock and he yelled, "What are you, crazy?! You've got a kid on the way! If you were my wife I'd have you tied to a bed until it was time for you to deliver!"

 

Natalia let out a small cry as a less extreme wave of pain hit her. The three men kneeling over her looked at her in fear. She tried to reassure them she was fine but they wouldn't hear of it. Greg removed his jacket and folded it, placing it underneath her head on attempt to keep her comfortable. Mycroft realized she was still only in her black sweater and removed his as well, breaking the connection between their hands, and draped it over her, keeping her abdomen clear to allow the agent to continue massaging.

 

Natalia sought out his hand and without hesitation he relaced their fingers together, giving her a reassuring squeeze. Greg simply watched on helplessly.

 

It took a few minutes but the agent returned with several men and a stretcher. That were careful as the rolled her onto it and it only took two men to lift her. Mycroft continued holding her hand as she lay suspended over the ground by the cloth held by the two long bars on either side of her. 

 

Greg followed behind them and kept an eye out for any dangers but it appeared the battle was over and the men were left to count the casualties and tend to their wounds. He couldn't believe what had happened and how fast it did.

 

"All the men I treated were in that building," Natalia managed to say to Mycroft. He frowned and looked back at the remains of the building and said, "I'm sorry but thank you for helping them."

 

Natalia protested, "It was my fault they were hurt in the first place. I really should have just gone back to him."

 

Mycroft shook his head, "I wouldn't let you do that and as much guilt as you feel, you really don't want to go back with him. It's not your fault he's a lunatic."

 

"If I didn't run away from him I'd be his only victim. These men and women have families who have now lost someone they loved," she told him.

 

Before Mycroft could answer, the agent carrying the stretcher at her feet looked down at her and said fondly, "My brother was one of the men you treated and as his family, I don't blame you, ma'am." He was one of the men that had held Moriarty at gunpoint during his confrontation with Mycroft.

 

"I am so sorry," Natalia said to him, her sincerity clearly evident in her words. The man shook his head, "I don't want an apology. I want that son of a bitch responsible for this brought down. It doesn't take a genius to know he did something terrible to you that no woman should ever have to be put through. That alone was enough to make me want to kill him and now he's made it personal."

 

Mycroft normally would not allow his men to speak so openly but he saw that he was keeping the woman calm and his words seemed to bring her some comfort. He looked at the man as they continued walking and asked, "Can I get your name and clearance level?"

 

"Abbott, sir, Theodore Abbott. Level 4 clearance," the man answered strongly. Mycroft gave him a slight nod and said, "Welcome to Level 2 clearance. I want you to stay with Miss Messina. I only want her out of your sight if she's in the toilet or with myself, Anthea, my brother Sherlock, Dr. John Watson, or Dr. Molly Hooper though, with her, I prefer you stay with them both if any one of us isn't present."

 

Natalia watched helplessly and wanted to protest but she knew that the man would listen to only Mycroft. She looked at Mycroft with a questioning look and he said, "My brother gives me a look identical to the one you're giving me when he knows I'm monitoring him. I can assure you it doesn't work to change my decisions."

 

Natalia pulled her hand from Mycroft's and he almost pouted before he caught himself. Her hand had begun to feel comfortable in his. She said, "My fingers were getting cold." She tucked her hand under his coat that still lay over her.

 

A minute later they finally came to a vehicle that had escaped damage during the conflict. It was one of the armored trucks used to transport the men under Mycroft's command. He instructed them to load Natalia carefully in the back. He had Greg climb into the driver's seat and ordered the other men who walked with them besides Theodore, who asked to be called Ted, to join in the recovery around the compound. He asked Ted to join Greg in the front to provide security to him as he drove. 

 

Mycroft instructed Greg to go to the building he had left his brother and everyone else at and climbed in the back of the truck with Natalia as she laid on the floor. As soon as the door was closed, she started to sit up with a groan.

 

"What are you doing? Lay down!" Mycroft exclaimed in slight fear that she would hurt herself further. She waved him off and said, "Whatever damage done is done. Besides, I just felt the little guy kick. He's fine." 

 

A nervous look fell on the man's face and she sighed, "Look, I know what's going through everyone's heads because it went through mine a lot a few months ago."

 

"What do you mean?" He asked hesitantly. She looked him directly in the eyes and made Mycroft slightly uncomfortable. He was in extremely uncharted territory and he was beginning to see he was a bit inexperienced with the ranges of human and emotions and experiences to the point he realized he didn't differ much from his brother.

 

Natalia rubbed her hand on her stomach and said, "I realized I might be carrying the _spawn_ of Satan but that doesn't mean he is Satan. It took me a while to realize that and that's what made me want to escape."

 

Mycroft gave her a small smile and offered her his hand to help her slide onto the seat next to him. She thanked him and before he could say anything she took his arm and linked it with her own and rested her head on his shoulder. He tensed immediately and locked his stare directly in front of him but she didn't notice. 

 

He kept telling himself that she simply was looking for human comfort and it was typical of traumatized and sexually assaulted victims. He had never been one for these kinds of affections and in his past, preferred more carnal pleasures to subdue any desires for intimacy.

 

The short ride passed in silence after that and Mycroft was relieved when they had finally come to a stop. Luckily, he hadn't had to break contact with Natalia as she let go of him and scooted away from him before Greg and Ted opened the door for them. They both expressed concern that she was moving but she shot down their worries but stating the baby was fine and kicking.

 

Mycroft hopped out of the truck after the two men assisted the pregnant passenger. The door of the building was locked from the inside but the door opened before they even knocked by John. He looked at the group with relief and ushered them inside.

 

"Allow me to introduce Theodore Abbott, though he expressed that he'd like to be called Ted. I've given him Level 2 clearance and he has been assigned to Miss Messina's permanent security," Mycroft quickly introduced the new addition and then identified each person in the room so that the man was aware of the exceptions to his detail as expressed earlier. He simply nodded and then placed himself in the corner of the room and watched silently.

 

Natalia was guided to a cot and forced to lay down as Mycroft ordered the multiple doctors in the room to look over her. Molly looked at Mycroft and asked, "What happened to Dr. Weiss? Is she able to come up here and take a look at her?"

 

Anthea and Mycroft shared a look and she answered, "We don't know where she is. We are only just getting communications with the rest of the compound up again. If she's ok, we'll send her up the second we find her."

 

Molly frowned at the response and then looked at the male doctors and said, "Perhaps I could take a look at her and offer her some privacy?" John and Dr. Thompson looked to each other and nodded. John knew that even though Molly worked specifically with the dead, that she was capable of other practices and would not make the request unless she fully capable of performing an adequate assessment.

 

The pathologist looked around and room and asked, "Gentlemen, if you wouldn't mind?"

 

Without hesitation, the men grabbed their coats and quickly headed to the door. Sherlock moved the quickest, not particularly keen on seeing the lower regions of the woman he had wrongly assumed that day to be only a typical client when she showed up at his house. He glanced at his watch as he stepped outside and realized that it was now several hours into a new day and the sun would in fact be rising soon.

 

Natalia didn't mind having the men in the room but it seemed to make everyone else more comfortable so she said nothing. After years of being on an ambulance, she was beyond formalities. She had been injured several times on the job and rather than report them and be forced into taking time off, she'd have her usually male partners patch her up. She had patched up many of her partners during her career as well though she never had any gynecological concerns to have addressed. 

 

Irene sat with Anthea behind the desks. She left her hand resting on her thigh out of comfort rather than seduction and Anthea appreciated the contact. Mrs. Hudson was tucked into one of the cots and was sleeping soundly. This left Molly to examine Natalia with as much privacy as she could provide.

 

"I haven't done a gynecological examine since med school so I apologize if I'm a little rusty," Molly said to Natalia. The two women were familiar with one another as they both worked at St. Bart's. They had gone out often for drinks until The Fall which left Molly a completely different person. When John and Sherlock told her about Natalia, she had no idea they were talking about the paramedic she knew. It made her feel terrible for being so distant.

 

Molly performed the exam as best as she could without having the proper equipment but feeling the baby move seemed to be a sign that she was ok. Her vitals were normal and there was no evidence of blood or signs of a possible miscarriage. Natalia explained that the baby had never been so active before though they both chalked it up to the movements she had gone through over the past night.

 

"I suppose we should let the boys back in," Molly said when she was finished, removing the nitrile gloves from her hands. Natalia nodded, sitting up, "I suppose so, I just wanted to ask you something first and I hope you don't mind if it's too personal."

 

Molly gave Natalia a shy smile and said knowingly, "I never once thought he was capable of all the things he has done until it was too late. He is a great actor and a terrible person but it wasn't your fault as much as it wasn't mine." Natalia nodded and Molly reached out and squeezed her hand reassuringly. 

 

"Thanks, Molly."

 

Molly got up and went to the door and opened it, shivering when the cold air hit her. She frowned when she saw Sherlock, Mycroft, Greg, and Ted smoking. John and Dr. Thompson were standing away from them. 

 

"Boys, the only smoking I want to see from you is in several months when this baby is born," Molly called out to them. They looked at her with signs of relief. The smokers quickly finished their cigarettes while the doctors quickly scrambled inside to get warm again. The others filed in a few moments later. Greg announced from the door that he was going to join the rest of the men at the compound to help with the cleanup. Mycroft informed him that he was welcome to stay but he refused, not feeling like he deserved preferential treatment after the night the other men had.

 

It was cramped in the small building and Mycroft spoke with Anthea about getting better accommodations. John spoke up, "If you plan on sticking us in another ice box like earlier then I'd rather be packed like sardines in here."

 

"I concur!" Sherlock called out. Mycroft rolled his eyes at him and said, "Beggars can't be choosers." John frowned, "Aye, then find yourself a different lot of beggars then or I'm hitching a ride to Mary's mum's."

 

"And risk getting them killed as well?" Mycroft snidely replied. John furrowed his brow and argued, "Listen here, Mycroft, I'm at the end of my rope. I did not reenlist into the fucking army, alright? I'm here to help you as much as myself and I'd like to be warm in the process, I don't see that as an unreasonable request!"

 

Mycroft seemed impressed by John standing his ground and offered no arguments. He simply answered, "I'll see what I can do but for now we stay put."

 

With Mrs. Hudson on one of the cots, still fast asleep, that left three cots. Sherlock paced the room and instructed Molly to rest as he saw the darkness growing in her eyes. She yawned and nodded, happily surprised as he guided her to one of the open cots. He continued pacing along the length of her cot. Watching him for only a few minutes was enough to help her drift to sleep.

 

Dr. Thompson sat on the floor near Mrs. Hudson's cot and rested his back against the wall. When asked if he wanted to sleep on a cot he lightly laughed, "Why would I when I have a seat as comfortable as my recliner at home?" He rested his head against the wall and seconds later he was snoring lightly 

 

Anthea was beginning to fall asleep and Irene and Mycroft both encouraged her to take a cot. She tried to refuse but when John had also urged her as well, she caved in. Irene slipped under the blanket with her and two women fell asleep quickly. Mycroft watched with slight annoyance, wishing that it was anyone but The Woman that had wooed his second in command.

 

Mycroft sat behind the desk and Natalia got up from the cot and sat on the seat next to him. He looked to her and said, "Perhaps you should sleep, you had a very busy night and the sun will be rising soon."

 

Natalia placed a hand on her stomach and said with a yawn, "He's not going to let me sleep." He simply nodded and looked to the monitors at his men and frowned as he watched them collect bodies and clear debris.

 

John sat on the cot Natalia had vacated and asked if it was ok if he took a nap. She said yes and he was asleep before his head hit the lumpy pillow. Ted was asleep in the corner, sitting on a small filing cabinet. Sherlock was continuing pacing and Mycroft said quietly to avoid stirring anyone, "Do you have to do that? It's infuriating?"

 

Sherlock scowled and said, "It helps me think since I don't have my skull." Natalia eyed him hesitantly which Mycroft noticed and he said to her, "He's been this way his entire life."

 

"Stuff it, Mycroft."

 

Natalia smirked at the brotherly affection though that would never be the term they would use to describe their relationship. She looked to Mycroft and asked, "Do you think he will really stay away until it's time?" There was no need to clarify who she was talking about. He shrugged, "I can't even begin to guess."

 

"Can I ask you another question?"

 

"You just did," Mycroft said with a smirk. He was incredibly sleep deprived and it sometimes made him slightly playful. She gave him a tired smile and asked, "Why does he call you the Iceman?"

 

Sherlock let out a chuckle and was met with a serious look from his older brother. He stopped his pacing and smiled to Natalia, "May I answer?" She looked between the two Holmes brothers and sensing the annoyance radiating from Mycroft she answered, "I think not."

 

"Well, you're no fun."

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and looked to Natalia and simply answered, "I believe emotions and sentiments to be a human flaw." He earned a frown from the woman, something he expected. She shook her head and said, "You are not devoid of either of those. If you were, you'd be..."

 

"An iceman," Sherlock said, returning to his pacing.

 

Natalia smiled sadly at Mycroft, ignoring Sherlock. She reached out and placed her hand on his. Without a thought, he turned his hand to offer her his palm and her fingers slipped within his.

 

"See, you're not an iceman."

 

Mycroft frowned and pulled his hand away, "You needed comfort and in your state it is critical to appease your need for it in whatever way is necessary."

 

"Then hold my hand," Natalia ordered. Sherlock stopped pacing again and stared intently at the two with curiosity. Mycroft was aware he was observing but said nothing.

 

"You don't need comfort," Mycroft stated, "You are simply trying to prove your invalid belief."

 

"And what if I simply just want to hold your hand?" Natalia challenged. He replied, "I've come to your rescue twice in less than twenty four hours. If you feel the need to be affectionate with me, it's simply due to the situation and not of sincere attraction."

 

Natalia frowned and said, "Very well."

 

"You really should try and get some sleep," Mycroft said, turning away from her and scooting his chair a few inches away as well.


	14. Chapter 14

John's 'nap' lasted nearly six hours and it was past ten in the morning when he shot out of bed with a startled yelp. He was covered in a cold sweat and looked around rapidly for the enemy but saw nothing that should concern him unless he could count Sherlock sleeping, leaning against the cot Molly was fast asleep on with the fingers of their left hands nearly touching. The sight helped calm his racing heart enough for him to return his head to the pillow.

 

"Are you ok, Dr. Watson?"

 

John lifted his head and looked to Irene, laying on the cot near him with Anthea. Her partner was still fast asleep. She gave him a worried smile and he nodded, "Nightmares."

 

"Of yesterday?"

 

John wasn't even sure. He sat up again and sighed, running his hand through his short hair, "I don't even know anymore."

 

"I often dream of all the times I should have died. They weave themselves together like a complicated tapestry. If I try to pull the strings of one, the rest comes with it. It never comes undone; it just tangles."

 

Irene spoke softly and distantly. He knew exactly how she felt but could never explain it as perfectly as she just had. He didn't have to agree with her for she knew.

 

"It's a shame," Irene said, "that good people such as yourself get stuck with burdens you don't deserve. I deserve everything that makes me suffer and not in the ways I would enjoy."

 

John gave her a weak smile, "Thank you, that means a lot."

 

He wanted to tell her she didn't deserve her burdens but he knew very little outside of the turmoil she had caused in his life with Sherlock. She had worked with Moriarty and he still had trouble trusting her. He could tell she was a different person but he refused to let his guard down. Besides Molly and Anthea, no one that had experiences with her trusted her and there was no one to blame but the dominatrix.

 

John glanced around the room as he saw Irene kiss the top of Anthea's head, not feeling comfortable watching the display of affection. Mycroft was fast asleep in one of the chairs behind the desk with his head awkwardly resting on his left shoulder. Natalia was resting similarly except for the fact she was resting toward her right. Their heads were merely inches away from resting against each other's.

 

Mrs. Hudson had fallen asleep by herself and he figured at some point over the past few hours she had woken up and invited Dr. Thompson to rest with her for they were curled up contently with each other. Ted was still sleeping on the filing cabinet.

 

There was a knock on the door that woke up Mycroft, Anthea, Sherlock, Ted, and Natalia. They all jumped up at the noise and Mycroft went to the door to open it.

 

"You lot should consider yourself lucky the mess hall was still intact. I brought you all breakfast!" Greg announced as he pushed past Mycroft with a large box in his arms. The smell of food filled the small room. His intrusion woke Molly but when she realized he was offering a warm breakfast, she didn't mind being woken so rudely.

 

Greg rested the box on the desk, pushing papers aside without a care and started to pull out the tin foil containers full of food as well as a stack of metal plates and cups he had found in the mess hall. The utensils were awkward combinations of forks, spoons, and knives put in one. Finally, he pulled out three thermos of coffee. It was the first thing he opened and the smell was enough to wake Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Thompson.

 

The occupants of the room quickly helped themselves and Greg made sure that extra went to the pregnant women despite her protests that she had enough. As they settled down with coffee and food, Greg cheerfully announced that Dr. Weiss was found alive and only with a fractured clavicle. They were relieved to hear the news.

 

"The cleanup is still going. The men rested for a few hours but they are back at it," Greg informed Mycroft and Anthea before his voice turned grave, "Death toll is in. We lost twenty eight men and six women."

 

The room fell quiet and a moment passed before Natalia placed her plate down on the desk and got up. She walked over to the bathroom and quickly closed the door behind her. They all stared silently at each other and wondered if someone should check on her.

 

"Maybe I should go?" Molly suggested, starting to stand up from the cot and lifting her plate off her lap. Greg looked to Mycroft and said, "You already know what's wrong, maybe you?"

 

"Perhaps Miss Hooper is better suited for this," Mycroft replied coldly. Sherlock frowned at his brother but said nothing as he watched Molly walk over to the door and knock softly. It only took a few moments for the door to slowly open and Molly slipped inside.

 

"Way to care."

 

"You can return back to the cleanup," Mycroft ordered Greg for his comment. John quickly protested, "Mycroft, have a heart! The man has been working all night and he had the decency to bring breakfast!"

 

Greg held his hand up to stop John, "It's fine, work needs to be done."

 

"You know, Mycroft," John started as soon as the door shut behind Greg, "you really don't _have_ to be an asshole!"

 

Mycroft avoided looking at John and simply said to the room, "You heard him, work needs to be done."

 

No one had anything to say in the uncomfortable tension that filled the small space. Mycroft began clicking at the computer in front of him, ignoring his food. He was happy to see the communications were online and several messages on his phone had appeared while he was sleeping indicating they had discovered the source that was jamming the communications and destroyed it. He tried to stretch his neck as he had slept awkwardly and felt the tension in his muscles.

 

Sherlock was not eating which was of no surprise to anyone except the few that hardly knew him. He did however pick up Molly's plate and then got up to collect Natalia's. He used his foot to kick the bathroom door as a way of knocking. 

 

It slowly opened and Molly peaked her head out. She looked at Sherlock and said, "We're gonna need a few more minutes."

 

Sherlock held the plates out and said, "Perhaps you'd like to eat while you chat? I can't imagine hypoglycemia being productive to emotional chitchats first thing in the morning especially when one of you is with child."

 

Molly smiled warmly at Sherlock and took the plates from Sherlock. He pulled the door closed for her as her hands were full and turned back to face the room. John, Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft were staring at him with surprised looks on their faces. He glanced at Irene and Anthea would who both had smug and knowing expressions though he wasn't sure why.

 

Mycroft began making series after series of calls while Anthea texted so much and so fast her hands started to cramp. They were finally able to make plans and arrangements with the world outside the compound for back up as well as strategies for whatever Moriarty was planning next. It made them feel useful again now that they were back in the loop.

 

"I do hope they are almost done in there," Mrs. Hudson worried, looking at the bathroom door. As if on command, the door opened and two women filed out calmly, Molly holding their empty dishes. Mrs. Hudson quickly got up and slipped in after them.

 

No one mentioned or questioned anything about what occurred between the women and they sat down silently. Sherlock looked to Molly and observed no signs of stress or other emotional problems and Natalia appeared to be as content as he could imagine a woman with flooded hormones to be.

 

Mycroft had just gotten off the phone, he announced, "We're moving our location further north. An old colleague of mine built himself quite a bunker and will let us it as well as help us."

 

"Garvey?" Anthea asked and Mycroft nodded. She frowned and replied, "He's a dirty old man, I'd prefer you ask anyone but him."

 

"We have no choice. We've been severely compromised."

 

"What about all the men? Do they just stay here?" John asked. 

 

"Yes, John, they stay here."

 

Natalia frowned and spoke up, "Are there better arrangements that can be made for them after all they went through last night?"

 

Mycroft sighed with annoyance, "I understand you feel the need to have an emotional connection to the men who work beneath me but remember that they were informed of any negative experiences they might face when they signed contracts to receive handsome incomes for their sacrifices." 

 

Natalia glared at him and stood up. She grabbed the coat Mycroft had draped over her during the night when they brought her to the building and put it on. She announced she was going for a walk and quickly left. Ted quickly got up and followed her out the door, following his orders.

 

Mycroft had had enough of the woman's emotions and attitude, he could see why Moriarty left her with him. She was a dose of pure aggravation. He actually muttered, "Good riddance" underneath his breath which earned gasps of surprise and shock from most of the people in the room.

 

"You're a real arse," Molly announced. She grabbed her coat and went for the door. Sherlock followed after her and John after him. He couldn't help but roll his eyes. As John was walking out, he turned to the older Holmes and said, "A bit not good."

 

"I'm quite sick of your brother!" Molly announced as they walked through the cold air in the woods. Sherlock easily matched the short woman's strides as they walked toward the compound. John trailed behind them by a few meters. 

 

The group of them enjoyed the feeling of the sun on their little amounts of exposed skin. Ahead they could see Natalia walking angrily with Ted behind her, gun ready in case of an attack.

 

"What do we even do now?" Molly asked Sherlock. He didn't offer any answer and she said said, "I never thought I'd see you not have the answer."

 

"I am human, after all. Haven't you lot been trying to tell me that for years now?" Sherlock said with a hint of bitterness. John caught up with them and suggested, "What if we branch off from Mycroft?"

 

"We'd be dead in a night."

 

"He himself has been screaming about how they've been compromised. It's why we are here and why we have to move again. I really don't think we are all that safe."

 

Molly looked past Sherlock to John and said, "Maybe you two could survive out there but I'm more of a target than you."

 

"But you managed to evade Moriarty's top assassin who Mycroft now has in custody."

 

Sherlock scoffed and said, "And Mycroft had Moriarty in custody and we can see how that has turned out for us all. Besides, I'm not so sure that having Moran in our custody is a win for us."

 

"You think he got caught on purpose?" Molly asked, rubbing her hands together to keep them warm before giving up and burying them in her coat pockets. Sherlock nodded, "The man has evaded capture for decades. He's a notorious and ruthless killer and the fact that you, Molly Hooper, escaped with the self defense capabilities of a child's level karate class has probably made him desperate to keep his reputation intact. I imagine he's going to try and work from within the organization."

 

Molly blushed and said, "I'd like to think I'm more capable than a child, you know."

 

Sherlock looked ahead still but smiled slightly. John caught the small curve in his lips and smiled as well. He then asked, "What about Natalia?"

 

"Obviously, she's going to have to give birth. I don't know if he's going to take her before she does or after but he's obviously trying to make us form an emotional attachment to make it worse when he arrives."

 

Molly frowned and said, "I can't imagine what she's really thinking despite what she says. If I had carried to term and had my baby ripped away from me..."

 

"You'd have been killed before you had a chance to grieve," Sherlock reminded her. His partner elbowed him hard and gave him a dirty look. He knew what the look meant and he quickly said, "I apologize, that was rather inappropriate."

 

Molly gave him a playful smile, "You don't have to apologize just because John tells you when you say the wrong things. You always apologize to me on your own accord when it's most appropriate."

 

Sherlock had nothing to say and she continued, "I prefer it that way because I know when you are being sincere."

 

"I try my best to always be sincere with you, Molly," Sherlock confessed. She nodded, "Since the Fall you do. I appreciate it."

 

John slowed his pace and Sherlock and Molly hardly noticed as he let them walk alone. Sherlock glanced at her nervously and said, "I appreciate you, Molly. I told you before that you do matter and the truth is that I honestly haven't told you that enough."

 

"Once," Molly quipped. He frowned and said, "Yes, only once."

 

Molly pulled her hand from her pocket and linked her arm with Sherlock's, he didn't protest and she slowly slid her hand down his forearm until her hand gently meshed with his in his warm pocket. He continued looking ahead and said, "I want you to know that I've considered you for several months now."

 

A small smile crept on Molly's lips and she asked, "You being kind to me hasn't just been because I was almost killed?"

 

Sherlock shook his head and glanced at her, "I'll admit it hasn't been the largest idea in my mind. I barely notice it and sometimes I try to ignore it. Often times I just don't know how to work with the information simply due to the fact I have little to compare it to."

 

Molly realized had she been anyone else, she might be offended or repulsed by his words but she knew him well enough to know that this was almost romantic. 

 

"I feel calmer when I touch you. Normally, contact repulses me. The sensory alone is too distracting for my regular thought processes to deal with with at the same. You know well enough how I am when stimulated but touching you doesn't distract me, it focuses me."

 

Molly blushed deeply and gave Sherlock's hand a squeeze. He smiled and added, "You make it easier to open the door to my mind palace, like there's no need to lock it to keep myself out."

 

The two said nothing else and walked along in content silence.


	15. Chapter 15

Mycroft sat across from Moran with a severe look on his face. The assassin was handcuffed to the chair by his ankles and wrists yet they both knew it was only a formality. He could escape at any time.

 

"Why did you allow yourself to be captured?" Mycroft asked. The killer smiled, "What makes you think I did it on purpose?"

 

"Decades of evasion. It's been near impossible to even capture images of you."

 

Moran's smile grew, "I'm getting old and rusty. What can I say?"

 

"You can say why you're here."

 

A deep laugh filled the small room and Mycroft felt a chill run down his spine that was more from the man than the cold room. They were near the center of the compound in one of the few intact buildings and Mycroft realized that he had been unfair to question John's complaint of the accommodations and Natalia's concern for the treatment of his men.

 

"Jim made me the godfather, had to keep an on the little guy. It was only fair since he's the same to my kid."

 

Mycroft frowned, "I had the pleasure of meeting your son yesterday."

 

Moran joked, "I heard he gave you quite the workout."

 

"I sensed more James in his behavior than your own. Absent much?" Mycroft remarked. The smile on the assassin's face fell and he snarled, "Don't start with me about daddy issues. I did what I did to help us survive. We weren't all trust fund babies!"

 

Mycroft saw he struck a nerve in the man and smiled, "What's next, you're going to raise James' son to be just like you, an even trade? Or is he going to have two boys to call him 'daddy'?"

 

"My son knows who his father is."

 

"I'm sure he does."

 

"And you're proud of him? Glad he's a criminal such as yourself?" Mycroft asked. Moran glared at him and said, "I couldn't give a damn what he did with his life. I'm not like your family trying to demand perfection from damaged goods."

 

Mycroft chuckled, "I assure you the Holmes family does not demand perfection but we simply achieve it through superior intellect."

 

"So far up your own arses," Moran spat.

 

"Now then," Mycroft asked, " will you give me something I can work with or do we put you in a cell underground and let you rot away?"

 

Moran smirked and said, "There's more than a baby in that bitch, Holmes. I'd try not to toss her around too much. I know from your old lover how rough you like to get."

 

Mycroft paled, "What?"

 

"That should be plenty for you to work with."

 

Mycroft stood quickly and ran to the door. He quickly called several guards to stay with the enemy and called Anthea. She quickly answered, "What's wrong, Mycroft?" She knew he'd only call her if it was an emergency.

 

"Find Natalia right now and get her a full body scan. I don't care if it's a bloody x-Ray!" 

 

Anthea asked, "What? Why?"

 

"Moran just said something. I suspect an implant of some sort," Mycroft answered. She gave him the pregnant woman's whereabouts in a few seconds, saying she was at the mess hall. 

 

Mycroft ordered several agents walking past him to retrieve Natalia as well as get him an armored car and to meet him at the compound gates. He called John's phone and was relieved he answered within two rings.

 

"What's happening?" John asked cheerfully but Mycroft shot his decent mood down, "Get to the compound entrance. I need a doctor for Natalia."

 

"What is it?! What's wrong?!" John panicked, Mycroft simply said, "I'll explain on the way."

 

Mycroft was walking quickly to the compound gates when he was cut off by the agent who had reported to him the night before when he had first arrived. He had an angry look on his face and pushed a finger deeply into Mycroft's sternum.

 

"Excuse me!" Mycroft yelled but the agent growled, "Don't. You. Dare."

 

Mycroft gave him a confused look and ordered, "Stand down!"

 

"Fuck your orders. It was your fault we lost those men last night!" the man screamed. Mycroft paled, still baffled he said, "You've lost it, clear the way before I have you relieved of your duties."

 

"Go ahead, relieve me! It's not like you listen to me. You could have spared lives last night if you had!"

 

Mycroft frowned and asked for clarification. The man scowled at him, "I TOLD you there was foaming in the pig pens and they needed security until they were drained. Those pens were bombs waiting for a light. That's how the attack started last night!"

 

Replaying the evening in his head, he had only lightly heard what the man had said and didn't feel compelled to care about the pig pens. He was only concerned about the safety of his men, not the animals and suddenly he realized his careless oversight had cost them severely.

 

Before Mycroft could even apologize or rectify the situation, the man pulled his gun out of his holster and handed it to him.

 

"I quit!"

 

The agent stomped away angrily and Mycroft let him. In shock, he continued toward his destination. He saw that John was there already and the shorter man questioned his worried features.

 

"I'm beginning to feel a bit inadequate."

 

John pouted, not used to hearing the Holmes brothers speaking less than highly of themselves. He didn't question it further as he was not as comfortable being candid with Mycroft as he was with Sherlock. He said nothing though because he was not exactly happy with Mycroft's attitude more than usual.

 

"Are you going to tell me why I'm here?"

 

"In due time," Mycroft replied, not looking at John in the eyes as he did so.

 

A familiar black car approached and Mycroft stepped over to the driver's window and examined the man behind the wheel. The driver rolled the window down and said, "Vehicle is secure, sir, I checked it myself."

 

Mycroft nodded, comfortable with the fact that it was Tony Striders driving. He didn't trust the man as he only trusted a select few people but he was more confident in his abilities and loyalty than any of the other drivers.

 

John wasted no time getting in the back of the vehicle as Mycroft told Tony it was not necessary for him to get out as they were still waiting for their final member of their journey. He allowed John to close the door to keep the heat within the vehicle. He awaited impatiently for Natalia and frowned when he spotted her. She was being forcefully dragged by two agents with Ted and Greg following behind looking upset.

 

Mycroft jogged back into the compound toward the scene she was causing and yelled ahead, "Release her at once!"

 

The agents released their grips on her arms and she pushed them both away roughly, screaming in Italian though Mycroft realized it was a Sicilian dialect he could barely make out. She was a fit of raging beauty that actually set fear for his own safety deep within him. Ted stood in front of Natalia, blocking Mycroft's view of her and said, "Sir, she wouldn't come willingly and I tried to get them to ease up on her but they said they had orders from you."

 

Mycroft ordered Ted to stand down and looked at the other two agents, "Consider yourselves demoted once this situation has been resolved. Greg, please take their names and ranks."

 

Greg nodded and apologized to the agents before asking for their names as Mycroft waited for Ted to stand aside. Natalia was staring furiously at him with her arms crossed over her chest. She was significantly shorter than him but she was rather intimidating looking at that moment.

 

"What is the problem?" 

 

No one could have predicted Natalia could have gotten any angrier than she already was but she exploded like a firework, "What's the problem?! What's the fucking problem?! I was fucking dragged here you inconsiderate little prick!"

 

"Calm down, Natalia," Greg said, turning away from the agents who were shuffling away with their heads hung low. He put his hand on her shoulder, "The baby..."

 

Natalia placed her hand over her stomach, shrugging his hand away, and said angrily back to him, "Was of no concern to them."

 

"My apologies," Mycroft cut in, "they must not have been aware of the situation."

 

If looks could kill, Mycroft would be dead on the ground. She shot at him next with her words, "You are on my last nerve, Mycroft!" 

 

For the sake of keeping her calm, he apologized again and added, "I am solely looking out for your well being by summoning you."

 

"How about you quit being vague and tell me what you want."

 

Mycroft looked at the two men beside her and decided that they should both know what he was about to tell her. He sighed uncomfortably as he didn't know the best way to describe the situation. He decided to just start with his source.

 

"As you are aware, we have Sebastian Moran in custody. I was just speaking with him only fifteen minutes ago."

 

"Your point?" Natalia said sharply, placing her hands on her wide hips. He frowned and continued, "He made a mention of something being inside of you besides a fetus."

 

Natalia paled as she comprehended what he said and both her hands went to her stomach, "What?"

 

"What the hell does that mean?!" Greg blurted, his jaw slack from shock and fear. Ted looked at Natalia with concern but said nothing.

 

"I don't know," Mycroft answered, "but there's a hospital nearly 20 kilometers from here. We lost all the medical equipment in last night's attack. I was going to take you there with John to find out what on earth Moran was talking about."

 

Natalia's entire attitude changed and she appeared to have shrunk. She felt as big as an ant as she realized how she had been acting when Mycroft had only the best of intentions regardless of how the men had acted toward her. She looked to Mycroft and simply nodded. 

 

"Can you two please stay put and stay with Anthea? Do anything she asks of you." Mycroft ordered. The two men nodded and Greg put his hand on Natalia's shoulder, "It'll be alright."

 

The now sober and defused woman said nothing and looked to Mycroft. He knew it would come back to bite him but he offered his hand to her and was relieved when her cold one took it. He led her to the car in silence.

 

Mycroft opened the door for Natalia and she slid in next to John. Mycroft followed and she found herself comfortably squeezed between the two. It was warm and she was grateful for it. John greeted Natalia and asked, "Can someone finally tell me what's happening?" He noted defeat in her body and was concerned that her normal fire was absent.

 

Before answering John, Mycroft gave Tony their destination. Upon discovering they were going to a hospital he paled and said, "You're not..."

 

Not able to finish his sentence, he looked at Natalia in shock. She gave him a questioning look and he finally said, "This isn't the answer!"

 

"What are you talking about?" Mycroft asked with annoyance. John looked at him with disbelief, "An abortion, Mycroft?"

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "She is not receiving an abortion. We think Moriarty might have planted something in Natalia's body."

 

If it were possible, John seemed to grow more pale. He opened his mouth to say something but the words wouldn't come out. He was at a loss and Mycroft explained why they needed to use the facilities at the hospital.

 

"What do you think it is?" John finally asked. 

 

"I don't even know if there really is anything but if there is, perhaps an explosive device of some sort?" Mycroft answered honestly.

 

Natalia, not looking at either men cut in, "I'm right here you know. You're not helping me stay calm."

 

"I apologize."

 

Natalia glared at him, "Saying you _apologize_ doesn't excuse you from being an ass."

 

Mycroft didn't know how to respond and he scowled when he saw a smirk grow on John's face. He turned to face forward and ignored the two as he tried to consider all the possibilities of the situation but he just simply couldn't focus.

 

The car ride felt long and awkward and the three were beyond grateful to escape the confines of the backseat when they arrived at the hospital. Anthea had already put through an order which had cleared an entire wing of the hospital for their use. They were assisted by a small group of nurses and radiation specialists as well as an obstetrics gynecologist.

 

Natalia was brought to a small room to undress and was provided with a hospital gown. She stepped out of the room and frowned when she saw Mycroft and John staring at her. She felt exposed but said nothing, making sure the back of her gown covered her backside.

 

"Right this way, ma'am," said one of the nurses. John told Mycroft to stay put and followed Natalia. The nurse and the pregnant woman went into a room and John spotted one of the technicians standing by an ultrasound machine. The ob-gyn was standing outside the room and John greeted him. 

 

"Dr. John Watson."

 

"Dr. Harry Steeple."

 

The two men shook hands. They were both of similar height and build and John asked, "Army?"  
He was answered with a nod and smirk, "Same."

 

"Look," John said cautiously, "she's been under a lot of stress but says the baby is still kicking. That's a good sign, right?"

 

The doctor frowned, "Usually it is but sometimes it might just be small contractions of the uterus and not the baby itself. There are mothers who have stillbirths that claim to feel the baby kicking for months even when the fetus has died off in that time."

 

John's frown matched that of the doctor and he felt sick. The doctor saw his concern and patted his back, "But hey, she looks healthy so I'm sure she's ok and we'll be calling you 'dad' in no time!"

 

"Oh," John said with surprise, "I'm not the father."

 

The man frowned and said with a hushed voice, "You mean to tell it's that awkward man you came with? No wonder she didn't seem to happy."

 

John's face turned red and he chuckled. He didn't have the heart to correct the man, "He's aggravating, that's for sure."

 

"I can tell."

 

"Anyways, shall we go in?" John asked. The other doctor nodded and they stepped into the room. The technician had already gotten started with Natalia. She lay on a hospital bed with gown pushed up. John saw her black knickers but said nothing as he had to remain professional, especially in the presence of the other doctor.

 

Dr. Steeple and the technician watched the screen intently as the technician moved the gel coated probe over Natalia's abdomen. The doctor made a hum that sounded positive and it relieved both Natalia and John more than he could ever realize.

 

Several minutes later, Natalia was allowed to sit up and given a towel to wipe the gel off her skin. The nurse and technician left the room and the two doctors remained with Natalia. 

 

"Well, the baby looks alright. Proper size and development, good heart beat and rhythm, and uterine lining appears to be perfect. I don't see any cause for concern."

 

The two breathed a sigh of relief and Natalia asked, "You didn't see anything that shouldn't be there?"

 

The question earned her a strange look from the man, "No, should I have?"

 

Quickly realizing he had not been fully briefed on the reason for their visit, they both shook their heads. With a few awkward words, the doctor bid them goodbye and good luck. He left them alone in the room.

 

"Is that it?" Natalia asked hopefully. John frowned and shook his head, "I'm afraid not but I need to ask you in order to move forward."

 

Natalia awaited his question as he composed himself. With a deep sigh he continued, "We have no idea what could be in you. We weren't confident we'd see anything with the ultrasound without alerting the staff by asking them to do a more broad scan. I suggested a MRI but if whatever inside you is metal, it could possibly be affected or triggered by the magnets."

 

"You want to x-ray me but are worried about what it would do to the baby."

 

John nodded, "That's why I had to ask. I mean, it's most likely nothing will happen but the point is that something could happen and that's all the reason more to proceed with caution."

 

Natalia bit her lip nervously and sat on the hospital bed. She glanced at John, "How will you explain putting a pregnant women in for an X-ray?" 

 

"The staff was dismissed. If we do the X-ray, it'll only be us that know and see it. An X-ray is much easier to read than an ultrasound."

 

Several moments passed before Natalia looked at John and nodded, "I guess we have no choice."


	16. Chapter 16

Anthea was beyond relieved to have Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Thompson relocated to a small island off the coast of France. She was glad Mycroft saw her reasoning that the doctor was too old to be of use in the fast pace of their ongoing situation and Mrs. Hudson had no place in their operations. Sherlock hugged his landlady tightly before she left and the old woman asked Molly to keep an eye on him and John until they were back at Baker Street. The consulting detective left a firm warning with the doctor to mind his manners with Mrs. Hudson.

 

During her nonstop search for answers, Anthea discovered how Moriarty had hid himself over the past three years. He had taken a rather large share in a shipping company, using his command of it to board the numerous vessels available to him. He had been traveling all over the world to rebuild an army more formidable than the one he left in ruins after The Fall.

 

Under his command, he had killed the remaining shareholders of his company to seize full control and used the ships to import and export a variety of different things ranging from weapons to drugs and even tainted food for refugee camps in developing countries. He contracted his ships to the highest bidders and pulled top assassins, smugglers, and mercenaries out of the world's various criminal rings. He used his time wisely and Anthea realized he had a super army at his beck and call.

 

Without hesitation, Anthea passed all the relevant information on to Mycroft. She hoped he would return from his excursion to the hospital with Natalia and John. She tried to convince Mycroft that it wasn't necessary for him to go but she couldn't dissuade him.

 

Anthea also discovered, that in London, Moriarty had also set his sights on several fertility clinics to target women. She was still getting more information by the hour but she was suspecting several things though from the reports she did have availability to, he was not mass inseminating women as she had feared. There was confirmation of at least three women, all from different clinics, who were linked to Moriarty that were all found dead. Autopsy reports revealed that they had all been recently pregnant at the time of death and all had suffered miscarriages. 

 

Sherlock looked over the cases of the three women and upon seeing their photos confirmed they had been in the disturbing animation that Moriarty had used to overtake John's laptop before destroying it. He was slightly relieved that Moriarty hadn't killed the women while still pregnant though he was disgusted he had done it at all. He felt even worse when Anthea pulled a report stating that each of the women had failed to successfully become pregnant at the clinics and each had soon after filed reports of sexual assault. Each one explaining the characteristics and descriptions of the criminal.

 

Irene also took in the information as Anthea and Sherlock went over it all. She was disgusted and ashamed of herself for getting caught up with him. It made her want to do good by her new group even more. She knew she would never be considered good but it was the least she could do.

 

Luckily, Molly had been spared the knowledge of what Moriarty had been up to as she had gone in search of clean clothes so that she could take a shower. She returned an hour later to the remote building dressed like an agent but without the armor. Sherlock had to admit to himself that the black tactical pants and the snug matching top mad her look fierce. Her hair was pulled into a braid that draped over her left shoulder.

 

"This was all I could find," Molly said shyly when the three looked at her. She blushed and it made Sherlock smile.

 

Anthea's phone made a noise and she quickly read the message that appeared on the screen. She frowned and looked around at her companions, "I don't know how this is possible but Natalia has what looks like an explosive device implanted on her uterus."

 

"What?!" Molly shrieked in horror. She had no idea where the pregnant woman had gone and she was not expecting news of that kind in the least bit.

 

Sherlock's phone went off and a frown reserved for his brother graced his face. He looked to Molly upon reading the message and asked if she was comfortable speaking with his brother on the phone. She nodded nervously and asked, "What does he want to talk to me for?"

 

Sherlock suggested it had to do with Natalia as he dialed his brother's phone number and handed it to Molly. She took it in her small hands and held it to her ear. It rang once and was quickly answered by Mycroft without any form of greeting.

 

"How confident are you in removing a device off the surface of Natalia's uterus?"

 

"You're joking, right?" Molly said skeptically. She looked to Sherlock and saw him give her a concerned look. 

 

Molly's head was spinning and she sat down on the closest cot to her, "How did you find out there was something there?"

 

"We went to a local hospital and took an X-ray," Mycroft answered. Molly's jaw dropped in shock and she yelled, "You put her through an X-ray?! Mycroft, are you stupid or just plain... Stupid?!"

 

It was clear the tiny pathologist was not well practiced in insulting people. Sherlock listened and even he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He looked back at Anthea and Irene and they were also in complete shock.

 

"We'll discuss that later," Mycroft said hesitantly, "the point is that there is something in her and we want it out."

 

Molly shook her head despite the fact he couldn't see her, "No! You don't know what it is and if you're going strictly by an X-Ray you have no idea if it's on the internal or external surface, posterior or anterior, or even on her pelvis or spine!"

 

"Obviously we'd work on determining that _before_ you operate on her. Out of all the doctors at our call, you're the only one with as close enough skill to a surgeon that we can trust," Mycroft explained. 

 

Molly sighed nervously, "You don't even know if it's stable! Obviously, Jim isn't stupid. He probably knows you'd find whatever it is and that you'd try to take it out."

 

Mycroft was fully aware of what she said but retaliated, "And what if it goes off and kills Natalia and the fetus?"

 

"Call it a baby, Mycroft," Molly growled at him. He said nothing and she went on, "I'll come to that hospital and take a look at her but I am promising nothing by doing so. I don't know why you didn't even asked me to come along in the first place."

 

"I thought you might be too emotional for the original task so I asked John to come along instead," he explained.

 

Molly her eyes, "Your fear of emotion is total bullshit, Mycroft. Grow up."

 

Sherlock grinned as she cursed at his brother and applauded her as she hung up the phone. She was beyond angry and Sherlock was incredibly excited about it. He stepped toward her and took her hand in his despite the ruthless glare she gave him and kissed it. 

 

"Dr. Hooper, should we survive this war together, I might actually ask you to marry me."

 

All three women in the room froze in pure and utter shock at the words that confidently spilled from Sherlock's mouth. A small squeak escaped Molly's throat and she turned bright red as Sherlock let her hand go gently and announced that he was off to find Greg to escort Molly on her trip.

 

Several moments after Sherlock left Irene grinned at Molly and laughed, "I told you to coax his humanity out, not hogtie and drag it out of the woods!"

 

Even Molly couldn't help but laugh and say, "I didn't do anything!"

 

"Oh, my," was all Anthea could say with a smile as she picked up her phone to order a car for Molly and apparently Greg as well.

 

Sherlock returned nearly a half hour later with Greg. Anthea announced a car was waiting for them at the gate of the compound. He escorted Molly out of the small room with Greg following behind them and guided her to the utility vehicle. Once she was seated he said, "I'm going to stay behind and try and help Anthea with some leads. Greg will stay with you until you get there. Be careful, Dr. Hooper, and please continue giving Mycroft hell. He deserves every bit of it."

 

Molly smirked and pushed his shoulder playfully, "Oh stop, he's a stupid git but he's under a lot of stress just like the rest of us."

 

"I'm fully aware of both those points but it just makes me feel better to know he's reminded that a minor position in the British government doesn't mean everyone will automatically do as you say without question."

 

Sherlock squeezed Molly's hand and was about to step back as she reached out and pulled on his jacket. Realizing there was no better time than the present, she leaned out and kissed his lips quickly.

 

It was a short peck but she was thoroughly happy with herself as well as the reaction on the slender man's face. He wasn't displeased at all but he was definitely processing the experience. Greg was more than surprised with Molly's boldness but incredibly happy to see her take a stand as he, along with everyone else, knew she was in love with him. He climbed into the seat behind the wheel and announced they needed to start moving.

 

Greg's voice was enough to stir Sherlock and he said distantly, the gears still turning deep within his endless mind, "I will get back to you on this when we reunite. Be fast and safe, Molly Hooper." 

 

Molly smiled with a small blush gracing her cheeks as Greg backed away from Sherlock and headed through the woods toward the compound.


	17. Chapter 17

Mycroft sat in the hallway of the silent hospital wing that they had for their use. It cost a pretty penny but his organization worked off the books of the government's financial records. They also had an income that was overlooked due to their invisibility from various groundbreaking research and discoveries that they had invested in for their use that also turned out to be incredibly profitable. They made sure money was invested wisely even if it sometimes was spent for operations unwisely. No matter what their expenses were, the organization was always in the black and 'donated' to the rest of the government some of the absurd excess money they accumulated every year.

 

Natalia was resting in a room by herself and John slowly paced a length of the hallway, not knowing what to say to Mycroft every time he passed by him while he sat on the floor with his back against the wall. The older Holmes looked purely defeated.

 

After more than several minutes John said, "I really don't like this plan."

 

"Nor do I."

 

John was surprised by Mycroft's lack of confidence in his own plan. He stopped pacing and sat down on the floor beside Mycroft and said, "Natalia is scared to death and we're not making it easier."

 

Mycroft sighed, something he had been doing a lot lately, "I don't know what on Earth you can expect me to do to remedy that besides focus on the whole of the problem."

 

"You could be nice to her for starters," John suggested with a hint of positivity in his voice. It only made a frown grown on Mycroft's face. 

 

Mycroft looked at John and said, "I understand everyone is concerned about my bedside manner but that's not my job."

 

John nodded, "You're right, it's not your job but you still have to do it. Just like the rest of us are involved in this, you have drawn an equally short straw."

 

"I can't just turn on emotions. You should know this. How long has it taken to get through to my brother?" Mycroft said sincerely. It earned him a warm smile from the doctor, "We make progress with him every single day and it's worth all the frustration."

 

Mycroft said nothing and threw his head back against the wall with a firm thud. John laughed and said, "Just give it a go. Hold her hand, tell her nice things, and make her feel good."

 

"You make it sound like I'm trying to ask her to dinner," Mycroft said with a scowl. He earned another laugh from the doctor, "It wouldn't hurt you to date a little."

 

John was met with a glare as he said sternly, "I don't date."

 

John gave him a skeptical look and asked, "You don't get lonely?"

 

"More than you realize," Mycroft responded quickly, "and if you repeat this to anyone I will find ways to take you down."

 

"My lips are sealed," John said and then added, "It still wouldn't hurt if you went in there and tried to be nice."

 

"No."

 

"Fine."

 

"Fine."

 

"Would you two shut up."

 

Both men looked up with surprise at Natalia as she stood in the doorway of the room she had been resting in, looking fragile in the hospital gown she wore. John nudged Mycroft hard with his elbow and the man fought from hitting him back.

 

"How are you feeling?" Mycroft asked. She frowned and said, "I'm alive for the moment, thanks for caring."

 

Neither one of the men knew what to say but she didn't care that they were silent. She shuffled over to them and clenched the back of her hospital gown as she carefully sat on the floor beside Mycroft. He glared at John as he saw him get up as she settled down.

 

"I need to use the loo," John said with a smirk and quickly escaped, leaving Mycroft to glare at his retreating form. He realized as he looked that he was limping slightly on the same leg he had been when they first met. 

 

Natalia cleared her throat, redirecting Mycroft's attention back to her. He looked at her and gave her an uncomfortable smile. She retuned it almost identically and said, "I'm sorry I've been such a pain. I am normally not a rampaging hippopotamus."

 

"Hippopotamus?" Mycroft laughed unexpectedly. She chuckled, "I had to compare myself to something fat since I'm pregnant!"

 

Mycroft grinned, "You're not hippopotamus sized." 

 

A moment of silence and he added, "Yet." 

 

"Jerk!" Natalia exclaimed, giving the normally grumpy man a nudge. They both laughed for a few moments more before she calmed herself and said, "Seriously, Mycroft, I'm sorry and I also want to thank you for risking your life for me twice. You have been ridiculously amazing and I can't even begin to express how overwhelmed I am by everything you've done for us."

 

"Us?

 

"Myself and the baby."

 

Mycroft nodded and gave her a small smile, "You're very welcome, Miss Messina."

 

Natalia relaxed against the wall, happy to make peace with Mycroft when she felt the baby kick. She smiled wildly and said, "Give me your hand."

 

The man frowned and said, "We are not having this argument again."

 

Natalia rolled her eyes and reached for his hand and took it by force. He didn't struggle and watched with skepticism as she placed it on her firm belly. He realized what she was doing but still allowed her to do it anyways.

 

"Keep your hand there," Natalia finally said and let go of his hand. He obliged to her demand and left his hand awkwardly on her stomach. A few seconds passed and he said, "I don't..."

 

The words were lost as Mycroft felt a small vibration along two of his fingers and he smirked. Natalia smiled excitedly and said, "I've only been able to feel him with my hand since this started. For such a small thing, he has been kicking up a storm."

 

"Perhaps," Mycroft said, removing his hand without any protest from the happy woman, "he will be a football prodigy."

 

Natalia gave him a distant smile and rubbed her stomach, "I don't care what he is as long as he's safe and happy."

 

The two sat in silence for a quarter of an hour before John returned. He seemed content that they weren't trying to kill one another and said, "I just got a text from Greg. He's with Molly and he says they are pulling up now."

 

Mycroft nodded and got up. He looked down at Natalia and offered her a hand. She took it gratefully and he helped her stand up so that she could hold her hospital gown closed. John smiled at the two but said nothing as he noticed their hands linger together for a few seconds longer than was necessary. 

 

"It's a shame," Natalia said as she began to walk towards the room she had come from, "if Mycroft wasn't so ridiculously pompous, I'd make it his middle name."

 

Mycroft blushed at her confession and asked hesitantly, "Why on earth would you even consider it?"

 

"So he always remembers who saved him," she said sadly. Mycroft frowned and added, "And you, also."

 

A sober look fell over her face and John felt his heart break as she said, "I don't expect to make it out of this alive."


	18. Chapter 18

As much as Irene had enjoyed spending time with Anthea, she was beginning to get restless. She happily accepted the offer to go undercover into London and infiltrate what Anthea believed was a scam of a fertility clinic that was harvesting eggs from unsuspecting donors to use to form embryos with Moriarty's sperm.

 

Anthea had originally suspected he was mass spreading his genes through artificial insemination but realized he was profiting more by going directly to the embryonic stage. The clinic gave the illusion of being highly competitive to get treated at and when she managed to hack into their database and obtain a client list, she saw familiar names of high ranking politicians and other influential people and their spouses. 

 

Upon further prying, Anthea discovered that they were not only implanting the embryos into those clients trying to get pregnant but offering surrogate options. She found several documents indicating the surrogates were victims of an international sex trafficking ring and had been bought and then given the illusion that if they carried a baby to term, they would be freed.

 

Anthea fought to keep from being sick as she read on, seeing that they were not just implanting one embryo into each of the women but multiple and several had died due to the high risk pregnancies they were forced into. The ones who did survive unsurprisingly reported as having died given birth though she knew they were murdered.

 

Checking the dates of the documents, the illegal activities had been going on for a solid year. She couldn't understand how they did not catch it sooner. She continued forwarding the information to Mycroft and he gave her the ok to send the dominatrix into the field with another male agent to act as her spouse. 

 

"Please, please, be careful," Anthea pleaded to Irene as she watched her button her wool jacket that hugged her body perfectly. She received a swift but passionate kiss as a response and sighed.

 

Irene touched her cheek softly and gave her a worried smile, "Darling, I will do everything I can to return to you. Just try not to get too distracted worrying about me."

 

Anthea was the one to reply with a kiss this time and the women quickly wrapped their arms around one another and deepened the it.

 

It did not last long enough for either to be satisfied but it was to be expected regardless of how long it could go on. Irene touched Anthea's cheek one last time before slipping away and going out into the cold and early darkness without a backwards glance in case she were swayed by the look on her lover's face.

 

Sherlock had been sitting in the corner of the room, skimming over the file of Jonathan Moran with a frown. He had been oblivious to the scene that had just taken place and the two women knew it, which was why they did not mind his presence in the least bit.

 

Anthea quietly returned to the desk and sighed, clicking on several new emails that had just come in. They were all status reports with nothing unusual or eventual to report as the compound continued to be in a serious state of repair. They were so overwhelmed that they had to hire out local contractors to start building new units under the pretense that the previous buildings had been practically demolished, not detonated by a criminal mastermind.

 

And hour prior, Anthea had to dash down to the compound to sign off on quickly procured building plans and she made sure when she did that they included insulation. If they were going to rebuild, it would be to standards that the organization and those who sacrificed their safety and lives could be proud of. She was embarrassed for Mycroft when he had been called out by John for the inhospitable conditions. This was a chance to remedy the issue.

 

On her way back, Anthea obtained a small box of food. Irene and her shared a small meal but Sherlock, as expected, refused to eat. 

 

Now that Irene was gone, Anthea asked Sherlock again if he wanted to eat. He looked up from the file and shook his head, "Molly persuaded me to eat pizza last night. I don't need to eat until at least tomorrow at least."

 

Anthea frowned, "I doubt she's going to be happy when I tell her you won't eat."

 

Sherlock glared at the women he had always known was more than just his brother's secretary. She had been in his life for many years and he regarded her as family, which meant he was just as rude to her as he was to Mycroft most times.

 

"Using Molly against me won't work. She is fully aware of my eating habits and wouldn't press me any further."

 

"We'll see," Anthea replied playfully and picked up her phone. She pretended to text to Molly and Sherlock rolled his eyes, "She doesn't have a phone on her as you should remember."

 

"Ok, Sherlock, you win."

 

"As always."

 

The two remained in silence for several minutes when Sherlock asked, "Do we have any idea who Jonathan Moran's mother is?"

 

Anthea looked up from a note she was writing in a file and shook her head, "No clue, I searched for hours. He has no birth certificate on file with any country I was able to check with."

 

"Either they must have had his records destroyed or he's living under an alias," Sherlock said. He asked, "Have you tried running a search of his image without his name in case it matches with another profile?"

 

A frown fell over her face as she nodded, "It was the first thing I did when he didn't come up in the system."

 

Sherlock groaned loudly and threw his head back in frustration, "I need more information!"

 

With his head still back, he blinked several times and stared at the ceiling. He slowly let it roll forward and said, "I need to go for a walk."

 

"Very well, but hurry back. I have more files for you to look over!" Anthea called to his back as he slipped his coat on and swiftly went outside.

 

The cold air was a slap in the face after being in the warm room and Sherlock felt it awaken his senses. He took in the smell of decaying leafs and started to walk along the dark and unlit trail back to the compound. He had walked it several times and so it was easier than ever to navigate. 

 

Sherlock tried to process the information he had accumulated over the past two days and apply it all to what he had already known. He had yet to make any hard connections and it was infuriating to him.

 

After playing the game with Moriarty in the past, he figured he had him understood. It truly was an entirely different game and the evil genius was more interested in making them suffer than he was with sending them on wild chases and having them solve puzzles. He was simply displaying his cruelty rather than his genius and geared it to his brother. He had successfully disarmed Mycroft by isolating him in the countryside and Sherlock realized that he was also isolated from the members of their parties.

 

The game was slowly presenting itself to the detective as he took into account the small information about the group that Moriarty had revealed when they had spoken to him. He realized they were stuck in a more social experiment to keep them distracted from Moriarty's real agenda.

 

Solidarity was needed if they were going to survive this game and Sherlock realized they were only as strong as their weakest link. The least likely of the group to be that link was Mycroft. Nearly every single member of their party had shown complete resolve when it came to his personality. Even he felt his brother had been unnecessarily cold during their predicament.

 

Sherlock was nearly clear of the woods when he saw a light flashing to his right. He glanced around cautiously before changing his direction and walking into the brush towards it. 

 

After scrapping against thorns and dense growth for almost two hundred meters, Sherlock came to a small clearing in the trees. In the center of it was a small, rusty lantern that glowed through dirty glass. He saw no one but waited.

 

"You're a brave soul coming out here by yourself."

 

Sherlock turned his head slowly to the voice and froze when he saw the man he had just been trying to find more information on several minutes ago. He noted that the young man was still dressed as one of Mycroft's agents and figured he had been on the compound since before the attack after he had escaped from Mycroft in London.

 

"I could say the same for you as you're doing an excellent job hiding in plain sight," Sherlock said to him. The enemy smiled, revealing his gap tooth grin to Sherlock.

 

Sherlock frowned, "Is there something you want since you've revealed yourself?"

 

The light reflected brilliantly off of Jonathan's red hair, looking like fire in itself. He ran his hand through it and said, "I've found myself in a predicament, Mr. Holmes."

 

"That's putting it lightly."

 

"Sarcasm is not appreciated," the younger man growled. Sherlock smirked and said, "It is all you'll get from me. Moriarty should have explained that one to you since you're _so_ close."

 

Jonathan frowned and said, "We're not that close anymore."

 

"Oh," Sherlock said in surprise, "things turned sour in only a day? Didn't realize you were dealing with a lunatic for however long you've been with him?"

 

Even in the poor light, Sherlock could see Jonathan's face turn as red as his fair with frustration. He may be the son of Sebastian Moran and resemble his structure and build but he did not have his personality and ability to remain calm. He displayed a lot of Moriarty's colors and it was a testament that he had spent much time with the leader of the network rather than his own father. While Moriarty was unpredictable at best, he still managed to present himself in the most theatrical ways possible, showing some restraint in that way while the boy standing before him was just young, naive, and caught up in something he didn't fully understand.

 

"He's got my daughter, you have my dad. If I don't bring him back I don't know what he'll do to her," Jonathan confessed. Sherlock glanced the Irishman over and saw only honesty in his features. He could read him easily enough to know that he did not have the training to hide the telltale signs of his motives and it appeared his primary one was as he said.

 

Sherlock gave him a skeptical look and said, "How old are you?" He suspected him to be in his early twenties at most and while young parents were not uncommon, he couldn't imagine anyone having the time or stomach to have relations with someone when they did the work that Moriarty prescribed them.

 

"I'm twenty-four. My daughter is only two."

 

"Where's her mother?" Sherlock asked.

 

"Dead."

 

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

 

"Are you going to help me or not?!" Jonathan fired at him. Sherlock stared blankly at him and replied, "Your father is fully capable of escaping, I hope you realize that."

 

The boy growled, "I know that but he won't!"

 

Sherlock chuckled, "Of course, trouble at home."

 

"Bite your tongue, Holmes," Jonathan said with a firm stance. He looked ready to tackle the taller man but Sherlock knew he wouldn't.

 

"If your father is refusing to escape, what on Earth do you think I can do? Besides, what could they be fighting about that Sebastian would rather stay in Mycroft's custody," Sherlock said, making a face of annoyance out of habit as he said his brother's name.

 

A worried look fell over Jonathan's face as he answered, "I don't know but I'm desperate."

 

Sherlock sighed, "It's clear you have some research of your own to do before I can be of any use." A defeated look fell over the young man and Sherlock began to turn around to walk back before calling out, "I won't expose you but if you try to stab anyone in my family in the back I won't give a damn about your daughter."

 

"How will I be able to contact you again?" Jonathan yelled to the retreating detective. Sherlock didn't look back as he replied, "Come find me, it's not like you have any trouble blending in."


	19. Chapter 19

Molly and John stared at the X-Ray on the light board with solemn expressions. They only had the one to go by as they did not want to expose Natalia to the harmful effects of the process more than needed. 

 

After a few minutes of silence she looked to John and said, "I want to take her in for another ultrasound. Perhaps a vaginal probe this time. Then we can get a better idea where it is. All I can see from this is that it's within her pelvic girdle."

 

John nodded and asked, "Want me to get the techs back?"

 

Molly shook her head, "No, I'm comfortable enough with the ultrasound machines. I did them for a few ladies I work with at St. Bart's when they were pregnant."

 

The doctors stepped out into the hallway, surprised to not see Mycroft and Greg where they had left them. John's phone vibrated and he looked at it to see a message from the detective inspector, reminding him of his day job with a message:

 

 _Heading to London for NSY. They found the body of the assassin from Baker Street. Mycroft will give further instructions. Stay safe. -Greg_

 

John read the text aloud to Molly and she frowned, "I suspect they'll be bringing me that body. It's going to be a long night and I need to talk to Mycroft."

 

Molly suspected he was with Natalia and asked John, "Would it be too much to ask you to get some coffee for me?" She gave him a warm and grateful smile as he nodded and disappeared in search of the hospital cafeteria. He knew it was the least he could do for all the times she had fetched coffee for him as well as Sherlock.

 

As suspected, she found Mycroft sitting in the room with Natalia. She had been consulting with John for nearly an hour and during that time, he had not only gone in there but he had fallen asleep in a chair in the corner of the room. Natalia was sleeping contently on the bed.

 

The pathologist frowned as she felt bad for ending their much needed rest. She went to Mycroft and put her small hand on his broad shoulder and nudged him gently. His eyes shot open in panic, something he did normally when he woke up. It was a force of habit from years of stress and keeping a eye out for the enemy.

 

With a sharp breath he focused his eyes on Molly and quickly relaxed in the seat and groaned quietly, "Dr. Hooper, do we have a conclusion?"

 

Molly shook her head and said quietly, "I'm going to take Natalia in for another ultrasound myself. The device didn't look too integrated with her anatomy but until I see it in the operating room I won't know for sure."

 

Mycroft nodded as she added, "I just want another ultrasound to make it a more efficient surgery."

 

The two looked over to Natalia and then back to each other. Molly said quietly, "If you wouldn't mind waking her, I'm going to get the ultrasound machine booted and ready to go. Have her ready in ten minutes so I can figure out the system as I don't know what make it is."

 

Mycroft nodded again and watched as the short doctor retreated from the room, wishing she had woken up the pregnant woman instead. He sighed and slowly pushed himself up from the chair, his joints crying for mercy and rest. He felt his age more than ever, especially from the combined effects of the past two days.

 

Stretching his arms, Mycroft frowned at his offending odor and dropped his arms quickly to his sides. He knew he was going to need to shower and get out of the tactical gear he had changed into the night before. The armor he had worn over the black sweater and pants had made him sweat profusely even in the cold night. He hadn't changed out of the clothes after removing the armor, only letting the sweat dry in his clothes and making him feel disgusting. He wanted a three-piece suit more than anything but he knew it wouldn't be practical until they were safe again.

 

Mycroft stepped over the the bed and placed his hand on the soft skin of her forearm. He realized that she also needed a shower. There were still traces of blood on her skin from the numerous men she had tried to save. The dirt and blood under her damaged fingernails were just another testament to the previous night. 

 

"Natalia," Mycroft said softly and shook her arm gently. It took calling her name a few times before she stirred from the deep sleep she had slipped into quickly. She looked up at him with hazy eyes and smiled, "Hey."

 

"Is for horses," Mycroft replied with a small smile. She made a content groan and stretched her body, pointing her toes and making various joints pop and crack. It sounded like a very satisfying stretch to the man.

 

With a yawn she asked, "What's the news?"

 

Mycroft let his smile disappear and said calmly, "Dr. Hooper will be performing another ultrasound." She nodded and looked at Mycroft's hand resting now beside her arm. She quietly slipped her hand into his and he froze but allowed it.

 

"Help me up," she said and Mycroft sighed with relief as he provided her assistance, getting her to a sitting position with her feet hovering over the cold linoleum floor. He removed his hand from her's and asked if she wanted anything to eat or drink. She shook her head and refused, "If they are going to do this, I can't eat."

 

A grumble could be heard escaping her stomach and she pouted, "Though I am starving."

 

Mycroft offered his arm to her as she scooted off the bed and stood up with shaky legs. She rubbed her belly and announced she was going to use the bathroom. She went to the door and slipped in quietly as Mycroft stood by silently.

 

A few minutes passed and Molly appeared in the doorway of the room, "I'm ready whenever she is."

 

"She's in the restroom. Perhaps I should take my leave now and come back later?" Mycroft asked. Molly nodded and allowed him to escape the room.

 

A minute later the door for the bathroom opened and Natalia shuffled out, surprised to see Molly instead of Mycroft. "Sorry to disappoint but it's only me," Molly teased. The paramedic blushed and said, "Better than that grump."

 

Molly grinned as she offered an arm for support to lead her to the room down the hallway. She glanced at her out of the corner of her eye as they walked and asked, "Are you fond of Mycroft? Because I happen to know he is very much available."

 

Natalia laughed freely, the sound echoing in the empty hallway and managed to say, "Please, how could anyone be fond of him? He's not exactly a charmer though I'll admit he is handsome."

 

Molly rolled her eyes, "You always did like the older ones."

 

The pregnant woman playfully bumped Molly as they walked slowly, taking their time and enjoying the friendship. She blushed and said, "I do but he's as emotionally mature as a young boy. I like my men to know themselves and he's what, fifty? He should have figured himself out by now."

 

Molly chuckled, "He's actually forty-two and I only know that because Sherlock likes to remind him that he's getting old."

 

Natalia grinned at the mention of Sherlock and said, "Forget me and dating, I've got a bun in the oven as everyone in this country likes to tell me. What's going on with you and Sherlock? He's been acting really sweet on you. It's about time!"

 

It was Molly's turn for a deep blush to bloom in her cheeks. She looked down happily at her feet and said, "I kissed him, just a peck, before I came here and he wasn't repulsed."

 

"You don't make it sound romantic when you say it like that!"

 

Molly shook her head but remained smiling, "It's different with Sherlock. He's not like any other man I've ever met. The things that are weird about him are the things that I like."

 

"We are weird women, Molly. I guess that's why we like those weird Holmes brother!" Natalia laughed and Molly froze, forcing them to stop walking. She exclaimed, "So, you DO you like Mycroft!"

 

Natalia hushed the pathologist and laughed with a red face, "Fine! I think I do."

 

Molly squeezed Natalia's arm affectionately and started walking again, "I think it's sweet. He needs someone to put him in his place and you need a daddy for that baby."

 

Natalia frowned, she knew Molly was just joking but she didn't want to think that she needed to be in search of a father for her child. Granted, she truly suspected that Moriarty would succeed in killing her once she gave birth, she figured that the company she was currently keeping would find a suitable home for her son. She highly doubted Mycroft would be anywhere near the top of the list of people who would voluntarily take charge of the child.

 

"Have you considered names?" Molly asked, hoping to cheer the Sicilian up but it seemed to make her frown grow, "I haven't really. Jim wanted to name him after himself, of course."

 

Molly gave her arm another squeeze for reassurance they turned into the room. She guided her onto the bed and closed the door, "Natalia, you know we won't let him have your baby."

 

Natalia scooted on the bed and responded, "I don't want to think about it. I'm still only halfway through this pregnancy and I'll go crazy if I think I can even make any plans for the future."

 

The two women stopped talking except for Molly who directed Natalia through the procedure. She was as thorough as she could be during the scanning to get as much information and finally said, "I found it."

 

Natalia looked at her with expectation and said, "And?"

 

Molly chewed her lip nervously and tapped several buttons on the machine and froze the image. She removed the probe, making Natalia cringe at the uncomfortable feeling, and pointed to the screen, "Right there."

 

All Natalia could see was a weird black spot in a sea of grey. She could read a 12-lead EKG strip in a moment but the ultrasound was beyond her scope of practice. Molly smiled and said, "It looks like it's implanted just inside your uterus, past the cervix. He must have done it before your body recognized the pregnancy. We could possibly remove it without as invasive of a surgery but we will compromise the mucus plug which will regrow but we risk introducing an infection. We can start an antibiotic drip though. And on a plus side, it's nowhere near the placenta so that reduces the chance of hemorrhaging."

 

Molly hoped what she was relaying to the worried women would offer her relief and she relaxed slightly she she saw her shoulders rest easily. Natalia huffed a breath of contentment and asked how confident the pathologist was.

 

"Very."

 

Natalia didn't respond as she considered what Molly had just said to her. Molly placed her hand on her's and said, "I truly think we can do this and that you'll be ok."

 

"And the baby as well," Molly added. 

 

Natalia nodded, "I guess I have no other choice."

 

There was a heavy silence that filled the room. Not asking for help, Natalia struggled to raise her tired body to sit up. Molly rushed to help her but she was denied and she watched helplessly as her friend stood up on shaky legs. She could see the exhaustion in her entire body and said, "I'm going to have John set you up with an IV as I'm a bit rusty. You need fluids and rest as you've stressed out that baby enough."

 

Natalia shook her head and Molly thought she was going to fight against her orders but she said, "I can start an IV on myself just fine."

 

"Really?" Molly joked, "You're going to be that stubborn?"

 

Natalia smirked and said, "Yes, I am. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in desperate need of a shower. Molly agreed and offered to find her soap and a towel in exchange for her staying put in her room. The two women parted ways as they exited the room when Natalia refused to be assisted down the hallway.

 

"Ah, Natalia," John said as he popped into the hallway just as Natalia was about to enter the room she had been sleeping in prior to her second ultrasound. Natalia gave him a tired smile and eyed the coffee in his hands and said, "I wish more than anything that I could have coffee." 

 

John gave her a sympathetic smile and suggested, "I could find you decaf?"

 

A look of disgust crossed Natalia's face, "Not the same but thanks anyways. Molly wants you to start a line on me after I take a shower. I said I could do it myself but I think it'd make her feel better if you did it."

 

John frowned at the order and said, "I haven't started a line on someone in," he paused and looked upwards as he tried to count, "at least a decade and a half. That's what the nurses were for."

 

Natalia smiled and said, "Well, looks like she'll have to deal with me doing it myself. I had plenty of practice, can even do it when I'm drunk."

 

John smiled, "Ah, yes, I remember starting lines on each other when I was in med school. Best way to avoid or cure a hangover."

 

"Anyways," the doctor said, "you take that shower and I'll find a start kit and have it for you when you're done. I'm gonna leave this coffee here for Molly if you could just let her know."

 

"Will do," Natalia said with a nod and went into the room and straight for the adjoined bathroom. She didn't wait for Molly, desperate for the warm water and steam. She stripped the loose hospital gown and let it fall to her feet before reaching into the shower and starting the water.

 

Natalia had a few moments to glance at her reflection in the mirror before the condensation quickly covered it. She frowned when she saw how tired she looked. There were specks of dirt and blood settled into the pores of her face and her skin was greasy despite having attempted to clean it after the battle. Her hair was a war zone in itself and so she refused to look at it further. She couldn't imagine what the staff who saw her earlier had possibly thought of her.

 

The bathroom warmed up quickly and she slipped inside the shower, closing the translucent door behind her. She let out a satisfied groan as the water ran down her body, turning brown with the contaminants on her skin.

 

Natalia was afforded several minutes of pure bliss before Molly came in, smiling at the sounds Natalia made as she saw the silhouette of her body through the frosted glass door. 

 

"I have the soap and a towel!" Molly announced cheerfully. The door of the shower opened a moment later wide enough for her arm to pop out. The pathologist handed her the bar of soap and placed the towel on the bar just away from the door on the wall.

 

"Thanks, Molly! John left coffee on the nightstand in the room."

 

"Great, thanks. I'm going to find the boys and check in on them. Will you be ok?" Molly asked, stepping out of the bathroom and closing the door but keeping her head in for a moment.

 

Natalia gave her the ok to leave and she was gone quickly. Natalia washed her body and hair with delight and reveled in the privacy she had missed over not just the past few days but since Moriarty had first raped her and became a constant presence in her life.

 

Nearly an hour had passed but no one interrupted her shower. She knew it had been overkill but she didn't want to leave the alluring warmth the water provided. Feeling like a brand new person, despite her wrinkled fingers and toes, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped the towel Molly had left around her body. 

 

Natalia opened the door and stepped out into the room. It was very cold but with the moisture on her skin, goosebumps raised along her body. She went over to the nightstand by the bed and opened it, finding a stack of hospital gowns. She knew her way around hospitals all too well from dropping off and transferring patients for work. She often times made the beds or provided certain things to patients to help the nurses out when things were busy. Most hospitals were set up the same way so it was just like being at St. Bart's.

 

The pregnant woman was oblivious to the open door until she turned with the gown in hand to see Mycroft frozen in surprise and embarrassment at the doorway, only a step away. She gasped and stepped back, her bare feet slipping in the small puddle she had made from the water dripping off her body. 

 

Dropping both the towel and the gown, she slipped backwards and braced herself for the impact with the floor but instead felt a warmth surround her. She opened her eyes, not realizing she had shut them and was met with Mycroft's alarmed and concerned ones.

 

"You need to stop falling. That's the second time I've had to catch you, Miss Messina," Mycroft teased and helped her stand up. She blushed and looked at his chest, not moving away from his body though his hands moved from her bare back, "Thank you but I've seemed to have lost my towel."

 

Mycroft realized she remained pressed against him to offer herself some form of cover. He blushed intensely and closed his eyes, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I was looking for either John or Dr. Hooper. I assumed they might be with you."

 

Natalia saw Mycroft shut his eyes and stepped away from him, blushing at the dam.p shape of her body left on his clothes. She threw her arm over her chest and bent down to grab the gown and said to the mortified man, "Just give me a second."

 

Natalia quickly put the gown on and told Mycroft she was decent. He opened his eyes to the view of her with her dark wet hair draped over her shoulder while she tried to blindly tie the strings in the back. The uncomfortableness of the situation was making her fumble more than she liked and Mycroft nervously cleared his throat to pull her attention to him.

 

Mycroft gave her a knowing nod and she blushed, turning around but clutching the material to cover her exposed rear. He chewed his lip and made quick work of the strings, tying them firmly to ensure they wouldn't come undone by accident.

 

"Natalia, I've got that start..."

 

Natalia jumped away from Mycroft and spun around at the start of John's voice and he froze similarly to the way Mycroft had only a minute or two ago. The three of them avoided eye contact with each other and and Natalia stepped to the side of Mycroft and eyed the bag of saline and sealed sterile pouch containing everything necessary to start an IV.

 

"I'll take that, can you get me a pole?"

 

John handed off the supplies and nodded, darting from the room quickly. Mycroft was still frozen in place and Natalia ignored him as she sat on the bed.

 

Ripping the pack open with her teeth, she frowned when she spotted the iodine swab in the kit. She preferred alcohol pads but she knew she couldn't be fussy. Mycroft watched her hesitantly as she pulled out the components of the kit.

 

"Do you need assistance?"

 

Natalia shook her head and tied the blue rubber strap around her arm and clenched her fist tightly several times while poking at a vein in her forearm with the pointer finger of her other hand.

 

"I have more than enough experience with this, thanks," Natalia said with a distracted tone as she ripped the iodine pack open and pulled out a saturated cotton swab on a stick. It was yellow brown and she pouted as she rubbed it vigorously on her skin, "I hate iodine. Smells bad, stains the skin, and makes a mess."

 

Mycroft said nothing but spotted yellow brown stains on the sheets already and she had only just begun. He placed the used swab on the remains of the kit and grabbed a plastic contraption that Mycroft questioned. She looked up at him for a moment before directing her attention to her arm and said, "Fancy things, right? That's what holds the needle and then it retracts it so no one has to worry about a needle stick."

 

It had been quite a long time since Mycroft had an IV on himself and he had been barely conscious every time he had. He had been in the field for so long that he hardly remembered if he had even seen an IV started. 

 

"Shouldn't you be wearing gloves?" Mycroft asked hesitantly as she picked up a length of plastic tubing and a needless syringe full of clear liquid. She attached them together and flushed the fluid through it, making a wet spot on her gown. She grabbed a second piece of tubing and bag if saline and attached them. She opened the line and let some of liquid hit the floor. Natalia smirked but continued her task, "To protect myself from what, myself?"

 

Mycroft frowned, "Infection?"

 

Natalia chuckled, picking up the needle and smoothly sliding it into the vein she had been poking at before. Making quick work of retracting it to leave the catheter in it and hooking up the tubing. She nodded toward and bag of saline and said, "Hold that until John comes back with the pole."

 

Without a question, Mycroft did as she said. She looked up at him after she taped and secured the site of the IV and said, "Gloves are to prevent patient to patient contact. They aren't sterile and I could just as easily get an infection from them as my own hands which are clean, I might add."

 

Mycroft didn't know what to say so he did what he rarely did and kept his mouth shut. She left him feeling enormously and uncomfortably disarmed. He felt like he was stark naked in the middle of the Savannah with a lioness stalking circles around him. He had nothing to use to offer himself a shield or to appear to have control. It was not a feeling he ever remembered having. It actually made him feel more impressed with the woman that he had been more than frustrated with for the past few days for a variety of reasons. It took seeing her calmly and smoothly insert a needle in her own arm with no dramatics or cry for help to find a respect for her that he had only had for very few other people. He didn't know if that was a good thing or a sign of weakness.

 

A moment later John wheeled in the metal pole with a hook on top. He took the saline from Mycroft and hung it, "That was quick."

 

"I told you I knew what I was doing."

 

John stepped over to Natalia and glanced at the IV, "Impressive."

 

Molly appeared at the door with a look of relief and smiled, "There you all are. I've been looking for you, two!" The relieved doctor stepped inside and spotted Natalia's IV and said happily, "Nice work, John."

 

John opened his mouth to correct her but Natalia cut him off, "He was worried about being a bit rusty but he got it on the first shot."

 

Molly smiled in response, not aware of the blush creeping on John's face. Mycroft also did not know what to do now and stepped away from the bed. He spotted the small garbage can near the wall and grabbed it for Natalia to throw away the trash from the IV kit.

 

"You can toss this in that sharps container on the wall," Natalia said, handing Mycroft the plastic that housed the needle. He nodded and did as she said and then stayed in the corner of the room to let the medical professionals discuss their course of action.

 

Molly had donned a white doctor's jacket to cover the black clothes she had been wearing from the compound. She had another draped over her arm and a small bag that looked similar to the saline that Natalia had just set up in her hand.

 

"I figured we can wait until morning to do the procedure, I want to start an antibiotic drip to offset infection. It'll be safer to give the drugs a chance to get into her system," Molly said, handing the jacket over her arm to John, "That's for you."

 

Natalia pouted at the fact that they would be there overnight though she knew it was inevitable. Mycroft stepped forward to Molly and asked, "Would you be horribly upset if I asked to you do the autopsy on the sniper from Baker Street? Greg will be coming by in a few hours with it after he clears up some paperwork at his _other_ job."

 

Molly frowned but nodded, "I figured you'd ask. Is there a morgue in this hospital?"

 

Mycroft answered, "Yes, it's off from the emergency department. I have been assured it will be clear for your use by the time they arrive and you'll have about six hours before we need to allow the hospital access again."

 

"Very well."

 

Molly looked to John, "And that's why I brought you the coat. I'm going to need your assistance if I want to get down with it tonight." John nodded in response.

 

"Thank you," Mycroft said sincerely, "you are the only one I trust with this and not because I think you're a gifted pathologist."

 

Molly smirked at the comment and said smartly, "Relax, Mycroft, I haven't started sleeping with your brother yet."

 

John had been taking a sip of his coffee and started to choke on the now lukewarm liquid as what Molly said hit his ears. Natalia was smirking and watching with amusement as Mycroft turned as red as he had when her towel had fell.

 

Uncomfortably, Mycroft replied, "I assure you I wasn't alluding to that."

 

Molly grinned, "Oh, I know," patting his arm, "but Sherlock made me promise to torture you a little bit."


	20. Chapter 20

It had been awhile since Irene had played her favorite role as a dominatrix but her reputation followed her everywhere she went. She had been assigned an agent to watch over her and fill the role as her husband. She was positive she'd be watching over him instead. He was a brute of a fellow that went only by Chuck and he trusted The Woman about as far he could throw her, though judging by the size of his muscles and Irene's slender body, could possibly be quite far.

 

"Well, _Mr. Patricks_ ," Irene purred while toying with the gold band and gaudy engagement ring on her finger, "who wears the pants in our relationship? I want to prepare for my role."

 

Chuck glared at her from his seat on other side of the car. They had been stuffed in the back of a typical black car of the agency. He had not been thrilled to be assigned to the task at all but he accepted it without complaint.

 

"You can take this a bit more seriously, Woman."

 

Irene pouted her red painted lips at him and said more sternly, "Believe me, darling, I take this more seriously than you could imagine."

 

Chuck scoffed at her, "I'm sure you do. You are just trying to find more secrets to extort the government. I know all about your little playtime with the Royal family."

 

"Hmm," Irene hummed in her seductive way, "then perhaps you would know I only was seeking protection and nothing as common as money or power." 

 

No reply came from the grumpy agent and she continued, "If you must know, I never have nor would I ever release those photos. I respect my fellow woman more than any man could and I'm in a serious and monogamous relationship these days. Believe it or not, the right woman changes everything."

 

"Say what you will, I don't care. I'll shoot you down if I have to at the first whiff of betrayal," Chuck growled at her. Irene rolled her eyes playfully and said, "Kill me and face the wrath of your superiors."

 

Chuck was glaring at her fiercely but she was not intimidated by his rage, "Like I should be afraid of them."

 

"You should," Irene said earnestly, "I would be and I fear no man."

 

Chuck rolled his eyes, "Mycroft is a soft old man. He's lost his backbone and resolve."

 

"It's not Mycroft I'd be worried about."

 

Irene was alluding to Anthea with a tone that mocked the agent, hinting she knew more than he did about the organization he had committed his life to. She knew that no one at his level clearance would know how important Anthea was to the entire organization and when Mycroft chose to remove himself from his position, it would only be Anthea in line for it. The man seemed to show a distrust toward women in general judging by the nasty look he had given a pair of female agents that were patrolling the compound when he walked past them.

 

"Then tell me, Woman, who should I be afraid of?" Chuck finally asked. Irene simply smiled and said, "I don't think you're at a clearance level to know."

 

"You're a bitch," the agent, only at level three clearance, said quietly and instantly regretted his comment as The Woman pounced at him and grabbed the ugly turtleneck they had given him as part of his disguise. She hit him firmly in throat but not hard enough to fully incapacitate him. 

 

As fast as she moved, Irene was back in her seat as the agent violently coughed, pulling the collar away from his throat as even the fabric made him feel like he was choking.

 

"I am a bitch, _Mr.Patricks_ , but it will cost you deadly to insult me."

 

Irene looked ahead to the driver and saw him smirking in the rear view mirror. The man chuckled, "I think we decided who wears the pants in that relationship."

\-------------------------

"How can you expect me to NOT tell Mycroft?"

 

Sherlock had just informed Anthea that he had been summoned, for lack of better word, by Jonathan Moran and that he was asking for help. The overburdened woman frowned deeply at her employer's brother. 

 

She did not need this. She did not need this at all. She was exhausted from spending countless hours burning her retinas while staring at the computer screen, actually have to speak to people on the phone, as well as text, email, and monitor the activities of nearly everyone employed in the agency. 

 

It wasn't just the outpost they were at but various ones throughout all the world. They had agents in every country's infrastructure regardless of the relations they had with them. These men and women were their eyes and ears so they could know immediately of any imminent threats. 

 

With the state of affairs in England, Anthea was concerned about all the agents abroad and had been exchanging intelligence with them. She was grateful due to time zones that the messages that came in were staggered through the day rather than bulked together at once.

 

Sherlock smacked his hands onto the desk and dipped his torso low to glare at Anthea, "Easily," he growled, "you don't pick up your phone and text him."

 

Anthea, not in the slightest bit intimidated, rolled her eyes, "What do you think we have to gain by teaming up with the Morans? They are born and bred from a world of insane evil. You can't trust them."

 

Sherlock realized his threatening pose had been terribly ineffective and stood up, adjusting his coat but trying to act as if he wasn't offended by her not reacting as he hoped. He shook a stray curl that had fallen in front of eyes away, "They are mercenaries, Anthea. Hired guns, regardless of how long they've been with Moriarty. The pay has mostly likely been great but now they realize they aren't the cozy family that they were led to believe they were. He's made it personal for them."

 

"Keep in mind that Sebastian is responsible for the deaths of dozens of our agents."

 

Sherlock frowned, knowing that it was in his best interest not to argue with her on that. He may not know much about emotions and sentiments but he was learning when his input would be the complete opposite of beneficial.

 

"Sherlock, Sebastian is a ticking time bomb and Jonathan has personally offended you brother," Anthea told him sternly and he cut her off, "It's about time someone got underneath his skin. Besides my self, of course."

 

Anthea smirked but returned to frowning to make her point, "I'm telling him. End of discussion."

 

Sherlock pouted like a child not getting his way which was exactly what he was. He watched Anthea reach for her phone in front of her and quickly snatched it away with a smile.

 

"Sherlock."

 

The tone in Anthea's voice was menacing and he knew she could hurt him in more ways than he could imagine but he jumped from her reach and said, "Hear me out for just one second!"

 

"One second is all you have before I hurt you."

 

Sherlock gulped nervously and quickly said, "But what if we play them both? Use the Morans to get Moriarty but take them all down together."

 

Anthea rose from her seat and Sherlock backed away until his legs hit a cot behind him. The shorter woman looked ready to pounce on him like a leopard and he realized that he had no choice but to hand her back her most prized possession.

 

Sherlock sheepishly held the phone out and she stepped away the desk toward him. The silence was alarming to Sherlock as he had never irritated Anthea as much as he had over the years as he had at that moment. Her smooth hands brushed his palm as she slid the phone from his hand and before he could return his hand to himself, her nails dug into his wrist and in a whirlwind moment the breath was knocked out of him and he was laying supine on the floor staring at the support beams in the ceiling of the building.

 

No words were shared between the two as Anthea went back to her desk, texting Mycroft in the process and leaving the younger Holmes to shakily return to his feet on his own.


	21. Chapter 21

Mycroft stood in the doorway of the room, watching the slow dripping of the IV and the woman who was attached to it. He had felt concerned when all three of the medical professionals, now sleeping before him, had seen how fast her body had drained the first bag of fluids. She was on her second bag and thankfully her body had felt its thirst quenched enough that there was no current alarm. No current alarm except for the potential explosive sharing a uterus with a growing baby.

 

Natalia had the most comfortable accommodations by sleeping on the hospital bed while John and Molly slept in hard plastic chairs. John was sleeping with his head against the wall and Molly with her body leaning on the foot of Natalia's bed. The two doctors were in a deeper sleep than Natalia and Mycroft watched with concern as she made small but rapid movements and muttered words of worry under her breath. She was beginning to sweat and he knew she was having a bad dream.

 

A yawn, nestled deep in his chest, fought its way to the surface and Mycroft couldn't fight it any longer. He released it but then shook the growing exhaustion from his mind. It wasn't even very late but there was still work to be done and he was suffering from the accumulating stress. He knew they all were but if he could afford them some sleep before himself, it would be better for them all.

 

Even though there were agents posted throughout the hospital and its grounds, he didn't feel comfortable sleeping when the rest of them were as well. He was almost grateful for the distraction from the calling peace of sleep when his phone vibrated.

 

With a final look at the distressed sleeping beauty, he stepped away from the room to look at his phone. His heart roared in his chest as he read the text:

 

_Jonathan Moran is hiding in our ranks. Presented self to Sherlock. Call him. -Anthea_

 

There wasn't even a moment of hesitation as Mycroft pounded the number to Sherlock's phone. He knew his brother never cared to answer the phone for him but was only slightly relieved when his annoying voice came on the line.

 

"Where is Moran, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked with gritted teeth.

 

"Hmmm, I believe you already have in custody," the younger Holmes answered smugly. Mycroft could feel his face getting ready and his blood pressure rising. 

 

With a deep but not calming breath Mycroft responded, "The _other_ one."

 

"Oh, yes, the one that gave you your first workout that didn't involve walking to get another slice of cake."

 

"Sherlock!" Mycroft roared, his voice echoing through the empty hospital corridor. He only received a chuckle from his brother before his tone changed to one of business, "Relax, Mycroft, I have it under control."

 

"How do you consider to have it under control?"

 

Sherlock explained what was discussed with Jonathan and what he discussed with Anthea. Mycroft did not want to make any deals with the deadly assassin or his son and he made his point known. He could sense Sherlock's aggravation as he wanted to do things his own way but Mycroft had to remind him of the lives at stake. He had men he needed to protect and he had been doing a terrible job of it. He felt sick when he delegated another agent to send home letters to inform the families of the fallen agents that their loved ones had died. Many of them had no families, which was a common case in their line of work. The high risk of the job paired with the reward of an impressive income usually only attracted the desperate or unattached. There had been more unattached agents in the casualty list than desperate and he made specific instructions to make sure the dependents of his agents were well taken care of.

 

Mycroft realized he was pacing the hallway when he noticed he had passed the same fire extinguisher for the third time. He spun around to see where in the hallway that he was when he froze. Natalia was standing in the hallway, her arm holding the rolling IV stand and staring at him with concern. Their eyes met but only for a moment before he turned his back to her to continue talking to Sherlock but he could feel her gaze on his back.

 

After several minutes of arguing Mycroft finally said, "Let the son come back with more information and do not agree to anything until you've notified me of the conditions. Can you agree to that?"

 

Sherlock was only partially satisfied with the offer but agreed and they were both relieved to end the phone call but only after Sherlock demanded on knowing how Molly was doing followed by a briefer inquiry to John's status and only a question to Natalia's. 

 

Mycroft pocketed his phone but not before texting Anthea to make sure that Sherlock was kept under strict surveillance to ensure he didn't act on his own accord.

 

"You should be sleeping," Mycroft said before turning around to face Natalia. He could still sense her presence and she looked slightly surprised when he looked to her. She shrugged, the movement lost in the oversized gown. She shifted her weight on her bare feet and said nothing. There was fear etched in her face and even from the distance down the hallway, he could tell she was utterly terrified. Every moment he was with her, he watched her fall deeper and deeper into despair and for the first time in his life, he didn't think less of a person for it.

 

Mycroft silently walked down the hallway to her, stopping only a few steps shy of her. He noticed her tight grip on the IV stand and her white knuckles. He lowered his head and looked into her almost black eyes that were now red and puffy from tears and lack of decent sleep, "You were having a nightmare."

 

Natalia nodded and opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. A second passed and a small squeak escape from her and he frowned upon seeing her eyes water. Not knowing what else to do, he held a hand out to her. She let go of the stand and he saw deep crescents in her palm from her nails but said nothing as she held his hand firmly.

 

"Shall we pace a bit?" Mycroft asked. Natalia nodded and grabbed the stand with her free hand. Mycroft slowly lead her down the hallway in silence except for the squeaking of the wheels of the stand on the linoleum floor. Mycroft imagined the floor to be cold under the pregnant woman's bare feet but she didn't seem to mind so he said nothing.

 

The two paced the hallway for nearly a quarter of an hour and Mycroft was beginning to even feel himself relax. Natalia's pace, though slow to begin with, seemed to drag even more and he could tell she was getting sleepy enough to go back to sleep. He figured another lap around the hall would be sufficient when he saw Greg entering the corridor.

 

If Greg was surprised to see the two holding hands, he said nothing and made no obvious signs toward it. He approached them and asked, "Everything good here?"

 

Mycroft nodded and let go of Natalia's hand. She frowned but neither men noticed but then she froze when she felt Mycroft's hand on the center of her back. His warm hands brushing the skin exposed between the gap of the fabric between the ties of the gown. It stayed firmly in place as he said, "I was just helping Miss Messina return to bed. She has a very important procedure tomorrow. Did you bring the body?"

 

Greg gave a small smile to Natalia though it lacked any cheerfulness. He was only vaguely aware of the extent of the situation and it was enough for him to feel terrible. He then looked to Mycroft and nodded, "We just finished locking down the morgue. The clock is ticking so you better get Molly down there fast."

 

Mycroft nodded, "You're earlier than we anticipated."

 

"It helps to know people at the Yard," Greg replied with a smirk. 

 

Mycroft nodded and said, "It does. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to wake Dr. Hooper and Dr. Watson."

 

Mycroft looked to Natalia and asked, "You ready to go back to sleep?"

 

Natalia had looked moments away from sleeping where she stood but the actual mention of sleep seemed to startle her. Both men looked at her cautiously as she blushed, "I'm ok."

 

Greg looked at her in disbelief, "You certainly are not, young lady. Off to bed!"

 

Natalia frowned as Greg reached out to take her arm. She was exhausted and she was well aware of it but every time she closed her eyes she saw twisted visions of Jim and the memories they had unfortunately made.

 

Over the past few hours of unproductive sleep, she had been dreaming of a particular night right before she discovered she was pregnant. It was the last night that she had ever felt anything for the mad man despite his already drugging her and using her body without consent. She tried to imagine that there was some good in him but she was more wrong then she realized.

 

The two of them had met for dinner and then he walked her to the park to see an old movie they were playing. He had brought a blanket and they sat close together, watching the black and white film projected on a sheet hung between to trees. She felt like everything was ok and that perhaps it could all work out. After all, they had been friends for so long. She didn't want to throw all of that away. She remembered his scent in the cool autumn air among the smell of leaves and dew and the hint of stubble on his chin after she rested her head on his shoulder.

 

During the movie, a car driving on the road nearby backfired and the sound startled Natalia. Jim had soothed her with a soft hand on her leg. When she looked back at him, their faces were only centimeters apart and she allowed herself to be kissed for the first time in weeks since the unfortunate night. She touched his cheek softly and deepened the kiss before he pulled back.

 

Not a word needed to be said as they got up, abandoning the blanket and the stares from the others watching the film and going hand in hand the few blocks to Jim's flat. She could still remember the butterfly feelings in her stomach as they ravished each other from the front door to the bedroom. She had never wanted a man so badly in her life as she did at that moment.

 

Natalia could not have imagined a more perfect date as well as a more passionate way to end it. Unfortunately, her date had other ideas. Upon closing the bedroom door, Jim had gone from being romantic and gentle to cold and domineering. His hands were rough as he held her down and the night was no longer about her enjoyment.

 

A small hiccup escaped Natalia's lips as she remembered his hands on her neck and the threats he growled in her ear that seemed to arouse him. 

 

"Natalia."

 

There were hands on Natalia's shoulder and she let out a cry and tried to pull back. She was overpowered and felt herself pulled forward as strong arms wrap around her. It took several moments but Natalia realized her surroundings. She was not in the bed of James Moriarty but now in the arms of Mycroft Holmes.

 

Natalia gingerly wrapped her arms around the tall man. She only just realized by her wet cheek being dried by his dark sweater that smelled of sweat, blood, dirt, and smoke that she had been crying.

 

With her face buried in Mycroft's chest, she couldn't see anything and could hear nothing over his steady heartbeat and rhythmic breathing. She began to feel her knees get weak and Mycroft spoke but his voice rumbled in his chest and tickled her ear. Before she could even try to comprehend anything else, the arms around her shifted and she was swiftly lifted off her feet.

 

The lights of the hallway burned her eyes and when she turned to hide from them, her face brushed across the stubble of a cheek. She groaned from the movement that moved her but almost enjoyed the feel of the stubble on her smooth skin. It wasn't like Jim's stubble which felt too abrasive like his personality.

 

There wasn't much time to think of anything as she was lowered and felt the bed underneath her. The blanket was pulled over her and without a thought she drifted to sleep despite the sounds from the others in the room.

 

"She looks like shit," Greg said upon seeing that she was fast asleep within moments. He positioned the IV stand that he had pushed after Mycroft as he carried her and put it along side the bed. Molly and John had both awoken and frowned upon realizing that their patient had been awake.

 

Mycroft said nothing but stayed at the side of Natalia's bed and watched her chest rise and fall slower with every breath as she feel into a deeper sleep than he had seen since she had been in his presence.

 

"She's exhausted," Molly said to Greg, defending her while yawning at the same time. Greg defended himself, "I know that. I just mean she's not taking it well."

 

Mycroft pulled away from his mind to say distantly, "She's been having nightmares."

 

John chimed in, "PTSD at work, no doubt."

 

The doctor was fully aware of how the disorder could flare up. She had been in a battle zone for several months being under Moriarty's watch and now that she was offered some reprieve, her mind was working against her. The room fell silent as everyone knew of John's own struggle even though it was never openly discussed.

 

"Anyways," Greg finally said, "body is in the morgue so head on over when you're ready."

 

Molly nodded and looked to John. He mimicked her and the two silently left the room, lab coats in hand for the start of a long night. 

 

Mycroft looked to Greg and said, "You're welcome to rest in one of the rooms in this corridor. You won't be interrupted."

 

"I'm not the one who needs the sleep," Greg replied and met Mycroft's questioning stare with a firm look. Mycroft opened his mouth to protest but Greg cut him off, "Hospital beds have wheels. If you're so concerned just push one in here."

 

A blush spread over Mycroft's face, "I don't know what you're talking about. The entire hospital is being sufficiently guarded."

 

Greg rolled his eyes, "I'm more than aware of that."

 

"Then please, clarify what you are insinuating," Mycroft ordered with a bitterness. He was getting annoyed with the endless assault about his feelings.

 

Greg knew better than to call Mycroft out so bluntly. He knew that Mycroft was the proverbial horse that could be lead to water but not drink from it. Urging him would only make him retreat further. He shook his head and said, "Forget it, I'm going back to the compound if I'm not needed here."

 

"Very well."


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm SO sorry for the extremely long wait for an update. I was backpacking Europe for 4 months and I intended on updating on downtime but I found myself so exhausted at night or while on the move that I just couldn't focus. I've been home for about a month now and readjusting to life and have started to get some inspiration for this story so that I can keep it going. Thank you to everyone for waiting, you rock!!

"Oh my god!"

 

"John, if you can't handle this then please leave."

 

"It smells terrible! How do you do this every day?"

 

" _Goodbye, John._ "

 

Molly was clearly annoyed as she waited to hit the record button for her notes. She had expected John to be an asset to help her finish the autopsy in a decent amount of time. She realized immediately that while he was fine with traditional battlefield injuries, he was not comfortable with corpses that had been in the river for nearly a day.

 

This had not even been nearly as bad as Molly expected. She had seen much worse in her line of work but she didn't want to think about that as she watched John try to compose himself. 

 

"Sorry, I'm good. Let's begin."

 

With an annoyed sigh, Molly hit record and began to describe the body before them. She allowed John to speak as he noticed things that she missed but she clearly noticed more than he did and he was very impressed. He wasn't surprised that Sherlock had acted warmer to her since the fall. She was clearly brilliant and he imagined if there really was a perfect mate for him, Molly Hooper was it.

 

"That wound was made post-mortem," Molly announced when she examined the skin of his pelvic region. John leaned in and looked at the clean line that was only several centimeters long. They made a note of it to look closely at that area upon deeper examination.

 

By the time Molly began to make the ever familiar Y-incision in the chest of the assassin, John had become comfortable enough with the task at hand. He handed Molly the proper instruments as she asked for them and with his help, she was able to sail through the autopsy until finally they were in his abdomen and determining the extent of the incision they had found earlier.

 

Molly looked at John with concern and said, "The incision goes into his bladder. It feels like there's something in there."

 

John gave her a questioning look but placed his gloved hand into the open cavity and pushed gently on the hollow organ. At first he felt nothing and as he moved his fingers over it he began to feel something hard in it. He looked at her and with a nod, they knew something was off.

 

Molly carefully cut through tissue to widen the incision and open the bladder and had John hold it apart as she carefully slipped her hand in the small opening she made for her tiny hand. She instantly felt the object and with a small tug, realized it was stuck. She pulled a little harder and it dislodged and she removed it from the body.

 

With her dirty glove, Molly held a small, thin device and John paled, "It's the same thing we saw in the X-Ray of Natalia's abdomen."

 

Molly examined the thin and elongated metal piece. It was smooth with rounded edges and small black holes in it. Had she seen it laying on a desk somewhere, she'd mistake it for a small pen but she knew better than to think that.

 

"Should we scan it?" John asked. Molly nodded and began to walk over to the counter where she spotted the small scanning device. It was nearly identical to the one at St. Bart's and she had no problems quickly setting it up. 

 

Molly waited for the machine to boot up and looked at the device again. John had joined her and they stared at it even though there wasn't much to look at. He removed his dirty gloves and took his phone from his pocket to take a picture. He forwarded the photo to Anthea and Mycroft.

 

As John was doing so, the object began to beep. Molly froze in place and looked at the item in fear. 

 

"Drop it!" John yelled, looking horrified at the tiny and insignificant looking device. He stepped back, fearing it was an explosive though he wondered how much damage a small thing like that could cause. He really didn't want a front row seat to finding out.

 

Molly willed her fingers to let go but let out a yelp as she felt a sharpness in the pad of her thumb. She dropped the device but it had stopped beeping. John gave her a questioning look, "What the hell was that?"

 

Molly looked down at her gloved hand and quickly removed the soiled nitrile. She looked at her thumb and said with a shaky voice, "It pricked me."

 

"What do you mean it pricked you?" 

 

Molly held her thumb out to John, "I felt it in my thumb. Look, there's a spot of blood."

 

John took Molly's small hand into his calloused one and examined the skin, frowning deeply opened seeing a small red dot. He kept himself calm and asked, "You sure it wasn't something from earlier?"

 

Panic was starting to creep in Molly's voice, "I'm sure, John. It stabbed me."

 

John looked at the small metal device sitting innocently looking on the floor. He looked around and saw a set of test tube holders on a distant counter. He quickly retrieved one and used it to carefully pick up the item in question and they examined it carefully again.

 

John felt his heart stop when he saw a very small and thin needle sticking out of the device. He looked to Molly and could tell by her paleness that she saw it as well. Her heart was pounding in her ears and she looked at John, "Call Sherlock, Mycroft, anyone!"

 

John gave her a confused look, "Molly?"

 

The pathologist looked at him in utter fear, "I think it injected me with something and I don't know what. Get Sherlock here."

 

John was quick as he sent texts to not just the two Holmes brothers but Anthea as well. When he looked up from his phone, he could see Molly had returned to the body of the assassin. She had donned a new set of gloves and was looking into his bladder again and called out, "It had a pin like some sort of grenade implanted into his bladder. When I pulled it out, I pulled it from the pin."

 

John's head was spinning in confusion as he tried to imagine what could possibly be in the device. He heard Molly remove her gloves as he looked at the response from Mycroft stating he was coming to the morgue.

 

Upon reading the text to Molly she looked at him and said, "Put me in quarantine. Don't let him come in here. You should leave too."

 

"Are you crazy?!" John exclaimed as he looked at the stern look on her face that replaced the scared one that had been there moments ago.

 

Molly shook her head, "I don't know what was in there but Jim mentioned bioterrorism, John. If there's some kind of virus or bacteria in there..."

 

"No," John said firmly, "do not think like that. If that's what's in Natalia, do you really think Moriarty would risk his own child like that?"

 

Saying the words out loud felt unusual to John. He didn't want to admit that Moriarty had a human side to him but he also felt like maybe he was hoping for too much from the criminal mastermind.

 

"John, please," Molly pleaded, "just help me."

 

There was a fire burning in Molly's brown eyes and he gulped nervously, realizing he had to do as she asked in case she was right. They really couldn't chance this.

 

The door to the morgue flew open and Mycroft stepped in with a flustered look on his face. "Are you ok, Dr. Hooper?"

 

Molly nodded, "For the moment. I'm trying to convince John I need to be in quarantine as we found a device in the assassin that looks identical to the one in Natalia's x-ray."

 

"John said in his text that it stabbed you?"

 

"A prick from a small needle. I asked John to send for Sherlock to have him run some tests. If it's biological, I need to be in quarantine as fast as possible. If it has the potential to spread and we don't know what it is..."

 

"Understood," Mycroft said firmly. He looked to John and told him to return to Natalia's room. He did not express his discomfort of having the pregnant woman alone but John could easily tell and quickly left but not before offering words of reassurance to the scared pathologist.

 

"Where should I place you?" Mycroft asked after John left the morgue. Molly crossed her arms nervously across her chest, "Every hospital has an area for quarantine. You need to find out where it is but I don't know if we can do this while keeping it quiet."

 

Mycroft tried to give her a reassuring smile but he just couldn't pull it off but said, "Money talks, Dr. Hooper."

 

It only took a few minutes of texting before Mycroft looked back to Molly, who had begun to cover the body she had been working on, and said, "Several members of the hospital staff will be down and place you in protective gear and move you into their quarantine facility."

 

Molly nodded in acknowledgment and began to walk over to the counter where she had left the device so that Mycroft could keep an eye on it until Sherlock arrived. As she walked, her body began to feel heavy as lead and even Mycroft noticed her moving unusually. He watched her cautiously with a furrowed brow.

 

She stopped her movement and went to grab at the edge of the counter, hoping to use it for support but her perception was clearly off as she was still several feet away from it. Realizing she was going to fall, Mycroft ran forward in an attempt to catch her. She fell to her knees and he caught her before she could hit her face off the floor. 

 

"Molly, what's happening?" Mycroft asked with a scared tone. He abandoned the formal title he normally addressed her by and watched as her pupils began to constrict to the just tiny spots. Her eyes scared him at that moment but then they slipped shut and her head rolled back and an agonizing groan escaped from her lips. Mycroft tried to shake her out of it but it was no use, she wouldn't stir.

 

The doors of the morgue burst open and the hospital staff came in dressed in airtight protective gear. The sight of them initially gave Mycroft a shock in his panicked state but allowed them to approach him and Molly.

 

"What happened?" One of the men in suits asked, his voice muffled through the barrier he wore. Mycroft shook his head and felt Molly he pulled from his arms by the other staff as continued to make a disturbing noise.

 

Mycroft looked at the men, his jaw slack with the shock of the situation, "I-I-I... don't. Know."

 

Mycroft was pulled to his feet and a suit like the one of the doctors were wearing was thrust at him, "We have already directed Dr. Watson in quarantine for examination. We need to check you as well."

 

It took a few moments for the words to process as he watched them cover Molly up and dress her limp body in order to protect her and possibly anyone else. She began to cough, though very dryly, and it made him feel better she showed some sign of life. He didn't know how he was going to tell Sherlock about this.

 

"Sir!"

 

The voice stirred him and he apologized. He grabbed the gear he was given and suited up as fast as he could. Another doctor had to zip up the back of the suit and in moments he felt trapped as it filled with his quick and humid breath.

 

Mycroft felt his phone begin to vibrate in his pocket and it wouldn't stop the entire time he was lead through the hospital. He wouldn't be able to reach it if he wanted to as it was within the suit. The hallways had been cleared until they reached quarantine and he argued when Molly was taken to a separate area. She was his responsibility and he needed to be with her. He was upset to see John in the room with him and asked as soon as he was free of the confining suit, "Where's Natalia?"

 

"She's with one of your agents. I asked Anthea to send Ted as fast as he could," John said shifting uncomfortably in the hospital gown they had put him in, "I didn't go to her because I didn't want to risk an infection if there is something contagious in there. I knew we'd be quarantined as well for being in the room with Molly." Mycroft noted he had an IV lock in place on his hand and said, "What's that for?"

 

John looked down at the tubing taped to his hand, "They want to keep us here for awhile in case we were exposed to whatever could have been in that thing. They plan to take blood several times."

 

Mycroft frowned, "I don't have time for this."

 

"If you stayed with Natalia you wouldn't have to be here," John told him though he lacked argument in his tone. Mycroft sighed, "I'm responsible for Dr. Hooper and yourself now."

 

The doctor rolled his eyes, "We can take care of ourselves, Mycroft, you don't have to micromanage us to make yourself feel more important."

 

"Obviously, I do."

 

"Excuse me?" John spat at him.

 

"Molly collapsed after you left. I don't know what's wrong with her," Mycroft said with worry weaved in his words. It was enough to diffuse John and he demanded an explanation of what happened.

 

Mycroft explained everything that happened and while he did, he removed his phone from his pocket and saw Sherlock had called and texted him multiple times. He looked to the doctor, "Should I be the one to tell him?"

 

John shook his head, "Not a chance, hand me the phone."

 

A doctor and nurse, in the protective gear, entered the room a few minutes later while John was talking Sherlock down on the phone. From what Mycroft could gather, Sherlock was rampaging his way to the hospital. He was summoned so he could examine the device but both men were very aware he was really coming for Molly.

 

Mycroft was informed to go behind a curtain and change into a hospital gown. The furious look he gave them made even John uncomfortable as he finally got off the phone with Sherlock. It took some convincing but Mycroft begrudgingly did as instructed and stripped bare, slightly happy to be free of the more than dirty clothes. He grumbled annoyingly when he put the gown on and noted how short it was for his rather tall frame. He showed more of his milky white legs than he cared to think about.

 

When Mycroft came out from behind the screen he heard John snicker and it took all of his power not hurl the closest thing he could find at him despite it being out of his general character.

 

"Natural redhead, eh?"

 

A deep frown formed on the older man's face as he looked down at the curly red hair on his legs. He grumbled under his breath but fought the urge to say something to John.

 

Mycroft looked around at the obnoxious white and pastel green room as he sat on a hospital bed to allow the nurse to draw blood, leaving a lock in place on his hand identical to John's if the need for more blood work or medication should be needed.

 

Both men wanted to ask about Molly's condition but it hadn't been more than several minutes and they knew there would either be no change or simply no knowledge of what was wrong with her. They were informed that they needed to stay put.

 

"I want full reports on Dr. Hooper on the hour," Mycroft commanded after the doctor as the man allowed the nurse to exit the room first. He shook his head, "I'm afraid I don't work for you, Mr. Holmes. Patient confidentiality applies in my hospital."

 

Normally, John would hug any person who didn't do everything that either Holmes brother demanded but he also wanted updates on Molly. He got up to stand alongside Mycroft who had stood up and displayed his full height. They weren't as intimidating as they would have liked in the hospital gowns and the doctor simply shook his head at their attempt and walked out of the room, locking the door behind him.

 

"I'm calling Anthea and having that abomination of a medical professional shipped as far from here as possible," Mycroft growled and picked up his phone. John rolled his eyes and said, "Relax, we just need to get a hold of a family member."

 

"She has none."

 

"What?"

 

John frowned at the cold way Mycroft had just said that. He also was wondering how Mycroft knew and he didn't but then he remembered that Mycroft knew everything. It made sense to keep tabs on Molly as she had worked closely in the morgue with Sherlock for years and helped him with his faked suicide. He just couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he himself had no idea that Molly had no family. He was aware her father was dead as he recalled briefly overhearing her talk about it with Sherlock right before The Fall but he imagined she must have had some siblings or her mother was still alive.

 

"The only child of parents who were as well. A father who succumbed to lung cancer and a mother to breast cancer. Grandparents on both sides are long deceased. Molly is the last Hooper remaining I'm afraid."

 

John looked at the taller man in disbelief, "You know everything about her?"

 

Mycroft nodded, "Down to the grades she received as a child. I also know everything about you, Dr. Watson though I do try not to hold it over your head."

 

John rolled his eyes, "You do such a good job of it."

 

The two men resigned to the beds in the room. John decided to take the opportunity to sleep as he had only napped uncomfortably before the autopsy in a chair. Mycroft realized that John had the right idea and allowed himself to rest back on the uncomfortable bed.

 

Before closing his eyes, Mycroft texted Anthea to work on a way to get information on Molly's condition. When he received affirmation, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.


	23. Chapter 23

It was nearly seven in the morning and Irene was already fully dressed. She wore a smart black suit jacket and a pencil skirt to match that showed off her curves perfectly. The white shirt she wore was left with the top buttons undone and a hint of cleavage showing. She would have opted for her blood red lipstick but knew that her typical war paint would call out too much attention. With slight disappointment she painted her smooth lips with a neutral beige color with just a hint of pink. Her eyes done only lightly with eyeliner and mascara to accentuate her large eyes and a glimmer of a light color on her lids to give her a more youthful glow.

 

"Morning," came a grumble from outside the bathroom and Irene smirked as she saw her accomplice. Chuck had hardly slept a wink after a second rude comment to the Woman had been met with a threat that left him afraid to close his eyes. He realized he would need to be civil now if they were going to pretend to be husband and wife.

 

Irene donned the blonde wig provided to her and smiled at her own reflection as even she could hardly recognize herself. The wig was of excellent quality and even she could hardly tell that it was fake. She moved past Chuck to escape the bathroom as he carried the suit bag containing his outfit for the day and slammed the door shut so that he could shower in privacy.

 

Irene sat on the chair near the single king sized bed in the room that she had slept alone in. Chuck had stayed on the couch in the suite all night. She silently praised herself on putting the man in his place. She knew, despite his bravado, that he was easy to mold. She frowned when she felt the urge to text Anthea. They had agreed on no contact except for the emergencies or critical information. Breaking their silence to tell her how old habits die hard would only cause problems.

 

It didn't take long for Chuck to shower and dress. He checked to make sure the nearly invisible to the naked eye camera was operating properly before they head to their target destination. His hand was sweaty in Irene's so she pulled her's away from his and linked their arms instead as they pulled off their act of being a married couple as best as they could. Acting came naturally to the dominatrix but it took a while for Chuck to fall into his role. He seemed set by the time they exited the cab at the fertility center.

 

The tears fell easily for the Woman, "We've tried for so long!" 

 

The doctor they spoke to was more interested in Irene's external anatomy than the one on the inside that he was supposed to be concerned with. He smiled at the distraught couple and asked if Chuck could excuse them to take Irene for a gynecological exam.

 

"Trying for a baby is such a long wait that we like to get a jump start on the process. No point in drawing it out," The doctor had said and Chuck hesitantly separated from Irene when she gave him a knowing look through her crocodile tears.

 

Chuck was escorted to a room to go over paperwork and discuss figures as Irene was taken away by the doctor. It didn't take long before the doctor had closed the door to the exam room and was pulling the fly on his trouser's down, "You have to understand this facility is very selective," he said.

 

Irene had expected this from the looks he had been given her and allowed the man to don a condom, making a comment about preserving her for the father. She was sure he really meant Moriarty but she played her role well and said she'd do anything to be able to have a child. She hoped the camera in her necklace caught everything as she laid on the exam tables and allowed the pig of a man to use her body for his own pleasure.  
\-------------------------  
After causing quite the scene upon arriving at the hospital, Sherlock had accepted that he would not be allowed to see Molly and angrily stormed off to the morgue to obtain the device that had incapacitated his pathologist. He examined it with tweezers and a magnifying glass before dismantling it carefully with sterile tools. 

 

Using a swab, he managed to obtain a sample of the mere drop of fluid left in the small instrument and was doing his best to analyze it as quickly as possible. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not to determine a lack of bacterial presence. It could possibly be viral but because they were too small to distinguish with the equipment available to him, he had to wait on the analysis from tests he was capable of performing.

 

The detective only wore a face mask despite being told he would need to don full protective gear. It took some intimidation from himself and some of Mycroft's agents to get his way as well as his solitude in the laboratory. 

 

After working for nearly two hours, an agent came into the laboratory and requested Sherlock's presence at the quarantine section. With a growl Sherlock had yelled at the agent for disturbing him. Like a scorned puppy, the agent escaped his wrath with his head down and disappeared. Even though he was working efficiently as ever, his mind was plagued with concern for not just Molly but John and Mycroft. He wondered if he was losing precious time by the emotions he contained for them. He found himself beginning to stare in the microscope longer than he normally would after his dismissal of the agent. He eyes saw but his mind did not register and he found himself simply staring and wondering what on earth he was doing.

 

Sherlock pulled away from the microscope and stood up straight. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He began to walk through his mind palace, finding the doors wide open in nearly every single room of the people he was surrounded by most. One by one, he peered into them and examined the contents of the rooms to make sure that he only closed doors that contained relevant information. He found himself leaving both Mycroft's and John's rooms only slightly ajar, though John's was open just a hint wider. With no remorse, Sherlock wrapped his hand around the white porcelain doorknob with the floral design glazed on the surface and pulled the door containing everything pertaining to Molly closed. He couldn't even remember when he had opened it. He figured it had been left open a long time ago and he had never bothered to close it.

 

It felt like the stopping of a draft through the house. Content with the static feeling in the hallway, Sherlock walked out the front door of his mind palace, locking the door to prevent any unintended changes. He opened his eyes and could practically feel his pupils constrict and his eyes focus intently on the work before him.

 

Calmly, Sherlock was able to take in what he had been fretting over and within another hour had determined the contents of the device. 

 

"Poison." 

 

Sherlock wasted no time running to the quarantine section with paperwork in hand and happily shoved it into the doctor's, who had denied him access to Molly, chest and declared, "Quarantine can be lifted. There is no disease to be transmitted."

 

"I can't just go by this, you know," the doctor said, "I need a professional's analysis."

 

The glare Sherlock gave the doctor set a slight amount of fear alight in him. He tried to hide it and looked through the paperwork again. He glanced up nervously several times as he skimmed the analysis before finally saying, "I guess it looks ok but I'm still going to need a second look. I'll let the two gentleman out of quarantine but Dr. Hooper is still off limits."

 

"That's perfectly fine with me," Sherlock replied cooly. He waited in the hallway for several minutes and laughed when Mycroft and John exited the room they had been held in with gauze taped to their arms and scrubs instead of their clothing.

 

"They destroyed our clothes," John said with a blush as he practically swam in the oversized blue scrubs while Mycroft found them tight in all the wrong places due to his height. His pale stomach peeked out between the gap between the top and bottoms.

 

"Your gut is hanging out, brother," Sherlock said with a sly grin, "Thank goodness there are no children around for you to scar for life."

 

John couldn't help but roll his eyes and say, "Really, Sherlock? Is this the time to be an arse?" His taller friend smiled fully, "It's always the time when involving Mycroft."

 

Mycroft merely shook his head in annoyance, "Now that you got that of your system, can you tell us what exactly is wrong with Dr. Hooper?"

 

Sherlock shook, "Poison. A very potent and fast acting poison. There wasn't a large enough sample to get a full proper analysis of but something tells me that it's probably an invention crafted by Moriarty. Without seeing Molly and getting an understanding of her condition I can't tell you anything."

 

"It made her fall unconscious in a few minutes, that's all I was able to witness," Mycroft said. Sherlock sighed, "That's not enough information. If I could get a large sample..."

 

Sherlock trailed off and then seemed to disappear in his mind for a moment. He snapped back, "Natalia! If we can remove the device without triggering it than I can possibly have enough of a sample to work with!"

 

"No!" Mycroft yelled without a second of hesitation. Both John and Sherlock looked shocked at him and he began to blush. In a calmer tone he repeated himself, "No."

 

Sherlock frowned, "We need the sample, Mycroft."

 

"It's too risky. We don't even know what it does yet and let's not forget that she's with child. Not to mention, Dr. Hooper can't perform the surgery if she's currently hospitalized," Mycroft explained. John agreed with Mycroft which did not improve Sherlock's mood.

 

"I said no and I mean it, Sherlock. She's off limits until we have more information," Mycroft ordered as his brother shared at him with his arms crossed over his chest. Mycroft was about to suggest they head back to the wing of the hospital they were currently taking over when Sherlock made a comment, "It's funny, I never took you for the kind to have a pregnancy fetish."

 

Sherlock stepped back just in time to avoid the fist that was been aimed for his face. John found himself stuck between the two brothers as he tried to keep them at bay, "Relax!" 

 

"You've gotten so soft, brother!" Sherlock yelled as Mycroft tried to swing at him over John. He egged his brother on by saying rude comments about Natalia and how his emotions were getting the best of him. It got to the point that even John was yelling at Sherlock and eventually moved to allow Mycroft to have full access to his younger brother.

 

Mycroft slammed Sherlock against the wall of the hallway, ignoring the nursing staff that was standing nearby, watching in pure shock. He lowered his glare to his brother's cold eyes, "Shut. Your. Mouth." 

 

Sherlock had nothing left to say and shoved Mycroft off of him before storming away. Mycroft stared menacingly at his brother's retreating form before looking back at John. The short doctor shook his head, "Don't even ask me what his deal is because I have no idea."

\---------------------------

"Congratulations, you've been approved!" The doctor had announced as he and Irene entered the room Chuck had been waiting in. He noticed the blank look on Irene's face and then the half zipped fly of the doctor's trousers. Despite his feelings toward the Woman, he winded back his fist and knocked the doctor out cold.

 

It took a moment for the actions to register and Irene gasped, "What are you doing?"

 

Several moments later they were surrounded by guards and Irene was glaring at her partner. "I had this under control," she whispered. Chuck said nothing and stared blankly ahead as they were patted down and searched. They were asked questions but neither answered. 

 

"Well, well, well..."

 

The blood drained from Irene's face as she looked at the doorway to the familiar voice. It took Chuck a bit to realize who was entering the room. He had never known the evil mastermind personally. He wanted to laugh at the man's tiny frame but seeing all the destruction he had already caused made him aware that he was not to be trifled with.

 

"It's been ages, my lovely dominatrix!" Jim Moriarty happily clapped. He was impeccably dressed in a custom dark pinstriped suit. His shoes wonderfully reflected the lights of the room. His hair was perfectly slicked back. His face was clean shaven and the smell of expensive aftershave and cologne filled the space around him. Irene couldn't believe that she had worked for this suave dressed devil.

 

Irene gasped as Moriarty nodded to one of the guards and the man ripped the wig off her head, pulling her own hair as it had been pinned in place. She glared daggers at her formal employer, "It hasn't been long enough."

 

Moriarty smiled madly at her and said, "You sure? I can practically smell the sex coming off you." There was a pause and then he laughed, "Oh wait, that's from that mediocre shag you gave my wonderful doctor. Tell me, how long has it been since you've been _fucked_ by a man?"

 

Chuck watched helplessly as the two interacted. There was the barrel of a gun pushed into his back. He wanted to spit in Moriarty's face more than anything at that moment but he refrained. He didn't care much for the Woman but seeing her sacrifice her body while being aware of her sexuality made him believe in her intentions just a bit.

 

"I wouldn't call that a _fucking_. I'd say it was more of a little prick. Which is fitting because isn't that what doctor like to call it?" Irene replied smugly. Her response earned her another laugh from the criminal and he patted her cheek firmly, "As sassy as ever. I do miss the good ol' days!"

 

Irene rolled her eyes but he choose to ignore it. He turned away from her and spoke aloud to the room, "I knew you were coming here. Mycroft's people are such sloppy hackers but I didn't expect it would be you specifically. This is truly a delight!"

 

"What the hell are you playing at, James?" Irene asked firmly, "You've never been one for something so messy." 

 

Moriarty turned quickly to look at her and smiled, "Dying made me realize that it's so important to find a way to live on! What better way than to have kids! It is the way of the world, isn't it?"

 

"How many kids do you possibly need?" Chuck spoke up, finding his voice finally. Moriarty glared at him, "Don't talk, it only makes you stupider than you look." Irene wanted to laugh but held back, remembering the man was on her side and had punched the doctor, who still remained unconscious on the floor, in her honor.

 

Jim pulled out of his phone and with a few taps held it up to show Irene a video of her and the doctor in the exam room. She felt her stomach turn as he said "I'm sure you remember how this game works."

 

"I have videos of plenty of desperate woman who would do anything to give their husbands a child. They are so devoted they'd have sex with another man just for a chance to do their duty as a wife," Jim explained. He stopped and smiled, "And that's all I'm telling you because I don't just hand out my plans like they do in the movies. I'm sure it's easy enough to figure out though."

 

Irene said nothing but she pieced it together fast enough. Before she could say anything, Moriarty was ordering his men to handcuff them and soon they were being escorted out of the room but not before black bags were thrown over their heads, hiding the world from their view.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains violence and rape. Please keep that in mind before proceeding.

Anthea fought back tears. They had lost transmission with the cameras and trackers on both Irene and Chuck and knew instantly they had walked into a trap. The agents that had formed a perimeter around the building had been silent for too long and finally an hour after her lover and the agent had lost contact, she was getting word from the men.

 

"I think we were drugged," an agent said over the radio in a groggy voice. Similar statements in identical tones came in and Anthea was quickly dispatching backup to the agents. All of this tied to the fact that she had been having spotty communications after the past hour with Mycroft as well as the agents at the hospital made her more nervous than ever.

 

When she finally got word from Mycroft that he and John were released from quarantine she was slightly relieved but upset that they still couldn't get past the doctor's blocking of Molly. She was waiting on an agent in London to get to the compound with a set of forged paperwork she had made for herself proclaiming her as Molly's relative. She had no way of printing the official looking documents without raising suspicion and so they were left to wait.

 

There was a knock at the door and Anthea groaned from her muscles protesting the movement after being seated for hours upon hours. She realized she was starving and had been neglecting eating in order to avoid distractions while making sure everyone was safe as well as doing many other tasks. 

 

Upon opening the door, Anthea was relieved to see it was Greg. She looked down when she saw the light outside reflect off something by the man's feet. It was a box of food that had fallen and the contents spilled. She looked at Greg again to see his face was pale and he was staring blankly at her.

 

Thankful for her quick reflexes, she caught the larger man as he fell forward and her arms wrapped around him. She peered over his shoulder and bit back a scream as she saw the arrow protruding from his back. With all her strength she pulled him inside and lowered him to the floor on his front side and quickly kicked the door shut. She grabbed her phone and texted for a medical unit to get to the building as fast as possible as well as to use extreme caution. The compound was set back into high alert.

 

"Greg, speak to me!" Anthea yelled as she kneeled beside Greg. He let out a low groan but formed no words. The arrow was embedded just below his ribs and Anthea prayed that no vital organs had been hit as she feared for his kidneys. The arrow was keeping the bleeding at bay and she knew better than to remove it. She checked the pulse in Greg's wrist and was relieved that while it was racing, it was present and strong. 

 

There was nothing for her to do that would improve his condition except try to keep him awake. She kept trying to talk to him and coax words out of him. She stroked his hair and spoke reassuring words to him as he eventually seemed to come out of the immediate shock of the situation and tried to roll over, not realizing it was an arrow that was protruding from his back.

 

"Stay down, Greg, or you'll kill yourself," Anthea ordered him and held him firmly down. He grunted, "Da fuck happened?" 

 

Anthea sighed, "You've been hit with an arrow. Help is on the way."

 

Sure enough, as soon as she said that, there was a knock at the door and Anthea opened it to allow the medical team in. She watched them step over the remains of the food Greg had brought her. It killed her inside to know he was trying to look out for her and he was now bleeding on the cold floor. 

 

Anthea couldn't hold it in anymore. She let tears pour from his eyes as she watched them stabilize Greg and move him to a gurney. She had no information to them besides the obvious and she watched as they carried him out with urgency to the armored ambulance they had driven through the woods. They covered themselves and Greg with riot shields and Anthea breathed a small sigh of relief when the doors closed with him safely inside. 

 

As fast as the crew had arrived, they were gone and Anthea was left in the silent building wondering what on earth had just happened. If it weren't for the food and blood on the ground, she wouldn't believed what had happened. She heard Ted yelling urgently on her radio receiver and so with a rough wipe of the tears with the back of her hand, she closed the door to the cold outside world and sat back on her desk.

 

"Natalia's missing!"

 

The words echoed through the small room and Anthea couldn't help it but scream out of frustration before she did something worse. Mycroft was going to be furious.  
\--------------------------

They told her there was an emergency and that Mycroft had ordered for her to be moved. He had been no where in sight but she hesitantly agreed and they had transferred her carefully to a wheelchair and put her in an ambulance. Natalia had no idea where they had taken her due to the lack of windows and she fell asleep during the ride to her embarrassment.

 

They had placed her in a rather large and luxurious room. She had woken up only when the cold air had hit her face as they pulled the stretcher carefully from the ambulance and wheeled her inside a building. Her eyes were too clouded with sleep to make anything out. It wasn't until several hours later when she was fully awake that she saw that someone had tampered with her IV. Her lock was still in place but the antibiotic and saline drips were gone. The rubber stop on the tubing showed a small imperfection that could only be made by a needle to administer drugs. 

 

The room she had slept in had a king sized bed with an incredibly warm comforter and the softest sheets Natalia had ever felt. Everything in the room was regally colored with gold trim and accents. The furniture was made of elegant mahogany with glorious carved decorations adorning them. She had assumed she was possibly in Mycroft's quarters as she imagined that the setting had mimicked his personality. She had only ever seen him briefly in his professional attire but she could tell he was a man with fine taste. 

 

Upon getting up from the bed, she found the door locked. She looked around and tried another door and it opened into the bathroom. She saw a change of clothes as well as a fine selection of imported soaps, oils, and perfumes on the large marble counter. The mirror before her was massive with a crackling effect behind the glass to give it an aged looked around the edges. She frowned at her appearance. The bags under her eyes seemed to be a new but permanent addition to her features. 

 

Realizing she had no idea when she'd have the opportunity to shower again coupled with the fact that the soaps and the deep tub looked incredibly inviting, she shed her hospital gown on the floor. It looked so foreign on the elegant bathroom's tile but she couldn't be bothered as she ran the water and went to the counter to pick a soap.

 

The sounds of the water running from the silver tap filled the room. Natalia picked up a bottle of soap with an interesting olive color and took a sniff of it. Her eyes slipped shut for a moment and she hummed in approval. She smiled to herself but then dropped the bottle as she felt fingers on her bare hips. She looked up into the mirror and her scream seemed to catch on something and disappear as she saw the familiar dark eyes of Jim Moriarty. He was smiling over her shoulder and kissed the side of her neck.

 

Shivers of disgust ran through Natalia's body and she tried to move away from but his grip on her hips tightened and her pinned her against the counter, the edge of it pushing uncomfortable into her stomach.

 

"Glad you're making yourself at home," he mumbled tenderly into her skin. Her heart was pounding rapidly and she wanted to be sick. How could she have been so foolish to think she was under Mycroft's protection? She hadn't suspected a thing. She felt so moronic now.

 

Natalia said nothing and let Jim run his hands over her body. He was being incredibly gentle but She had experienced the tender side of the criminal before only to have him become the violent and aggressive man he was known to be. 

 

"You did a wonderful job on Mycroft, darling. Daddy is very proud of you but now we need to wash his desperate stench off you," Jim purred as he pulled Natalia back from the counter and began to lead her to the tub. It was nearly full and she hesitantly allowed him to assistant her into it. She knew she was in no position now to refuse him.

 

Jim walked away from the tub and grabbed the bottle off the floor that Natalia had dropped. It had spilled on the floor but enough of it remained and he brought it to the tub and poured the last of the contents into the water. The rich soap bubbled within moments and he shut the tap off as Natalia watched him with flushed cheeks from the warm water.

 

"What are you going to do to me?" Natalia finally managed to ask as she watched her personal demon begin to slip out of his black suit jacket and loosen his silk tie. He looked dressed for a funeral, a look he tended to keep that she discovered after his true identity had been revealed to her. She had known the Jim who wore t-shirts in the summer and flannel in the winter. She had bought him a pair of chunky knitted fingerless gloves for Christmas around when they first met and he wore them for the three winters she had known the character he created.

 

There was no answer from the man as he fully stripped himself and joined her in the tub. The water rising to just below her chin. It was such a deep tub that it now made her uncomfortable for her safety more than ever when around the father of her unborn child.

 

Jim drained some of the water from the tub and for that Natalia was slightly grateful but then held her breath as he slid over toward her and pulled her onto his lap, his nose nuzzling her shoulder. 

 

"Everything is going wonderfully except for Moran," he said calmly and kissed her shoulder. Natalia refused to move out of fear and allowed him to hold her body against his. His fingers were running over her stomach and then she felt the tickle of kicking and when his fingers paused, she knew he felt it as well.

 

The silence was too intense for Natalia. She began to squirm and in an instant she regretted it as he clenched her tightly, "You may have made me proud but that doesn't excuse you for letting that old cow touch you."

 

Natalia gasped, "What are you talking about?" 

 

Jim growled in response, "I know everything that happened. You put his hands on you. That's my son in there and you're not helping yourself by trying to make me jealous."

 

"You're going to kill me, how can it get any worse?"

 

The words slipped out before Natalia could stop herself and she mentally cursed herself. She was pushed roughly from Jim and then pinned against the tub wall. His hand found their familiar place on her neck but he was not exerting enough pressure to harm her but the presence alone alarmed her enough for it to make an impression.

 

"I could let you enjoy these last few months of life or I could keep you so sedated you wouldn't know if you were even alive. Your choice."

 

Natalia looked Jim's dark eyes and knew he was serious. She had nothing to say and tried to pretend to relax for him. He could easily see she was faking a calm attitude but he smirked, knowing he had her under his control. He removed his hand and kissed her forehead roughly, "That's my girl."

 

Jim washed himself and then washed Natalia. She was like a rag doll in his hands, refusing to show a response to his touch. She kept her breathing slow and steady as she felt his hands run over her growing breasts, rolling her dark nipples between his fingers and making them harden as they cooled in the air while her body floated slightly in the deep tub.

 

Keeping her eyes closed, Natalia tried to think of other things. She tried to think of the most depressing ambulance calls she had ever worked on but that only made her stomach churn. She knew Jim would lash out on her for being being sick again like he did during the battle that seemed ages ago but she needed something to distract her from the fingers now rubbing behind her knees and moving up. 

 

A vision of warm eyes gratefully appeared in her mind and slowly she pieced together the image of the man that had been by her side more in the past few days than anyone else. She imagined the hands she had held being the ones currently on her skin. She let out a small fearful but also aroused whimper as she felt those hands begin to rub inside her thighs. 

 

Natalia held onto her thoughts of Mycroft Holmes as tightly as she could while being whispered vulgar and degrading words in her ear by Jim. She bit back a moan as his hand cupped her sex and a finger very lightly pressed against her. She felt lips smirking in the skin of her shoulder before she late out a loud cry as he bit her hard enough to break the skin.

 

All visions of the other man she had been thinking of vanished as she was moved across the tub only to be turned around and pulled back onto Jim's lap. She looked in horror at the blood on his lips and in his teeth as he smiled, "Can't have your mind wandering, that's just rude."

 

The bubbles in the tub were turning pink and she could feel the trickle of blood and water running down her shoulder. She was in shock from the pain and the sight of her own blood but the red only seemed to excite her unwanted partner more.

 

Without any warning, he slid his hands under the bubbles and roughly pushed a perfectly manicured finger inside her. The nail scrapped inside her sensitive parts and she whined out in pain. Despite having gotten a hint aroused, it had not been enough to provide her and natural lubrication and the soapy water only made the abuse sting more.

 

It took only a minute before the torment caused by his hand stopped and was replaced by his own hardness. By this point, Natalia was numb and let him continue to use her body. She let tears slowly stream from her eyes without so much as a sound. She left her hands draped on his shoulders for balance as the water splashed over the sides as he bucked his hips strongly into hers as he pulled her down. 

 

Time seemed to stand still and Natalia couldn't tell if it had been seconds or hours but she cringed as Jim released inside her. He rested his hand in the crook of her neck as she felt his breathing calm down and his fingers ran across her back, occasionally pushing into the bite on her shoulder. She could hardly feel it anymore.

 

"If you ever imagine I'm Mycroft again I'll kill you. Baby or not, I'll kill you," Jim said sternly and abruptly pushed Natalia off him. He pulled the plug out of the tub and climbed out without another word. He walked out of the elegant bathroom and left her in shame and fear in the cold water that she wished she could escape down the drain with.

————————  
“It’s rude to smudge a lady’s lipstick without her consent.” Irene purred upon receiving the blow to her face. A trail of red smeared from the corner of her lip but it was not lipstick. She resisted the urge to lick the tangy fluid away and smirked at the large man that had struck her. 

 

The black bag had already been removed from The Woman’s face but she had long since been separated by her surprisingly loyal companion. She felt a moment of affection for the man who had made an attempt to defend her honor though it came far too late to save anything. She couldn’t even blame him for blowing their cover because it appeared they were very much expected.

 

It was very clear that James Moriarty was very good at pulling the strings of his new web and could nearly predict every single step and movement that those who resisted him would take. Irene felt dread for Anthea, hoping more than anything that she was safe. She realized now that while she was supposed to investigate the fate of the woman attached to the clinic as well as Moriarty’s plan, her newest agenda was to find a way to buy her companions enough time to get ahead of the mastermind. 

 

“You’re one to talk about consent,” the guard scoffed as he pushed her down into a hallway lined with pipes and crumbling insulation. It appeared to be some sort of service entrance and the doors that lined the way read things like “Boiler Room” or “Janitorial Services.” 

 

Irene chuckled, “Darling, everything I have done was because I was given consent.” She smirked at the guard and winked. She could see the slightest upturn of the corners of him lips. Had she not been so close, she might have missed it. She pocketed this information for later and allowed him to lead her further down the hallway.

 

At the end of the hallway, where a light flickered for its life, was a door significantly more fortified than any of the others that they had passed. the guard held onto Irene’s wrists tightly though they were still bound by handcuffs. The chaffed and angry looking skin was something Irene was used to seeing on clients. She could not see the skin as they were cuffed from behind but she knew very well what to expect. It was not her first time in a situation such as this one but she had usually been treated rather softly when compared to this.

 

The guard kicked the door several times and the two stood their looking at the black metal expectantly. After several moments, a small window was revealed by the sliding of a metal panel. Dark green eyes glared at them, confirming their identities. The panel returned to its original placement and the door opened on heavy and squeaking hinges.

“About time, Bill,” The man behind the door grunted as he slammed the door shut after they had cleared the way into another hallway. Before they even started to walk again, the man with the green eyes reached out and grabbed Irene’s hair, twisting it around her large fingers and pulled her head to him painfully and suddenly enough that she cried out.

 

The man’s nose buried itself in her hair with a long and overdramatic whiff. As quickly as he had pulled her to him, he shoved her back to the man, now identified as Bill, “Natural brunette, blue eyes. Throw her in the third room.”

 

The Woman was pulled down the hallway to the third doorway. Each door was solid with no windows. It opened toward them and before Irene could peek into the room, her handcuffs were removed and she was shoved inside with the door slammed gracelessly behind her. She landed on her hands and knees, hair in her eyes that had been pulled from braids she had put it in to conceal under the wig.

 

“Let me help you.”

 

The voice was soft, gentle, and belonging to a girl. A delicate hand appeared before Irene’s face and she followed the arm it belonged to until she was looking into the face of a young girl, possibly only a teenager, with matted, curly, and dark hair and bright blue eyes. Her cheeks were speckled with freckles and the reassuring smile she tried to give The Woman showed white teeth with coated in plaque peeking out between chapped but full lips. Her skin needed a decent scrubbing and her fingernails had been excessively chewed.

 

Irene accepted the hand offered to her and the girl helped her to her feet. Irene found herself surprised as she looked up at the girl. Her height was not something she had expected. Standing before her, Irene could tell for sure now that she was heartbreakingly young. She was lanky and boyish, puberty had not provided her with her final form yet.

 

“What is this place?” Irene asked curiously as she glanced around at her surroundings. They were in a room with several other girls who were consolidated to the far corners. The uncoated cinderblock walls cast a grey gloom over them. There were dirty mattresses littered across the floor with thin blankets bundled up all around. The room was surprisingly warm but The Woman suspected it had to do with the pipes running above their heads and the boiler room being close by.

 

The girl frowned and said, “I’m not sure but I think there are more girls in other rooms. I’ve only been here for a few days, I think. I can’t really tell.”

 

“Who are you?” Irene asked as she slowly brushed past the girl and walked cautiously toward the far end of the room where six other girls cowered. The girl spoke to Irene’s back, “I’m Sylvia Ashworth.”

 

Irene paused and spun around, “You’re Keith Ashworth’s missing daughter, aren’t you?”

 

Sylvia silently nodded. Irene eyed her intensely, trying to understand why she was there. She was familiar with the case because of Anthea’s work on it. It seemed so long ago but it really was only two days ago. The battle at the compound had only happened the day before. She wondered how so much could happen in such a short amount of time. The young girl before her was the fifteen year old daughter of the politician in London who was presumed dead with her young brothers in critical condition from gunshot wounds.

 

Irene realized the experience was still very fresh for the girl and uncharacteristically wrapped her arms around the girl and whispered, “I’m here to help.”

 

Slowly, fingers grasped to the Irene’s now dirty suit jacket and the sobs emitted from Sylvia, shaking her entire body. Irene tried her best to comfort her as the teenager muttered things about being scared and not wanting to die. Irene was not one for dealing with children nor was she the type to offer comfort but her heart ached for Sylvia. She carefully guided her toward the closest and least stained mattress and together they sunk on the lumpy cushioning it provided. Irene never let go of Sylvia until she had cried herself to sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

Greg had a strong feeling that something wasn’t right. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was in the hospital when he clearly remembered just being at the compound or if it was because of the throbbing tension in his lower back that both hurt and felt like nothing at all. With several heavy blinks, Greg managed to pull through the cloud of anesthesia and survey his surroundings. 

 

“Thank god, you’re awake.”

 

It took a few moments for the words to register and when he tried to turn his head to face the speaker of the words, they were already before him. He grunted an incomprehensible greeting and was met with a large smile from Anthea, the last person he remembered seeing.

 

“Just relax,” Anthea said in a soothing voice, “The anesthesia should start wearing off. I need to go and check up on Molly but the boys should be here soon.” She kissed the top of his head and quickly departed. It all happened so quickly that Greg was nearly certain he had just dreamed it. His eyelids slipped shut again and what may have been seconds, minutes, or even hours later, he had opened them again to be in a more conscious state.

 

A sigh of relief escaped the detective inspector when he saw John standing at the foot of his bed in scrubs and what appeared to be his medical chart. John looked up from the paperwork to see his friend being responsive and smiled, “Welcome back, Lestrade. Have a nice nap?” He teased as he set the paperwork back in the slot hanging off the bed.

 

“Wuh happened?” Greg grumbled, rubbing a hand over his tired face as he yawned. John pulled up a seat alongside the bed and sat down, “You were shot in the back with an arrow. Any chance you saw who did it?”

 

“Christ, an arrow? Was bloody Robin Hood in the damn trees?” Greg groaned, his speech much more improved upon the shock of discovering what had actually happened to him chasing off the sleepiness that had been lingering.

 

John frowned, “I wish Robin Hood was in the trees. At least, he would have been on our side.”

 

Greg addressed the scrubs John was wearing by asking if he had performed the surgery on him but John shook his head, “I’m afraid not but the doctors look like they did a pretty good job. As for the scrubs, that’s a long story.”

 

“How’s Natalia holding up? Did they get that thing out of her?” Greg asked, wondering how much he had missed out on while he was down for the count. John opened his mouth, ready to respond but stopped himself. The past several hours had been a pure nightmare but he didn’t know the best way to describe it all. He wondered if it should be like a bandaid and pulled at once rather than eased. He didn’t want Greg to feel any guilt for being injured. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt the tickles of the familiar feeling of a migraine. He confessed to his friend, “Natalia has gone missing. We don’t know where she is but we suspect Moriarty has her.”

 

The blank look on Greg’s face momentarily concerned John but then he responded, “We’re just going to have to get her back, aren’t we?”

 

The doctor produced a very weak smile and tried to agree but he just couldn’t even begin to think of how they could possibly do that. He wasn’t even sure if she would be alive. Anything was possible with Moriarty except, as he was beginning to realize, getting a step ahead of him. 

 

“You know,” Greg said as he tried to shift on the pillows behind him but hissed upon pressing against the wound on his back. John quickly came to his aid and helped adjust the pillows behind him saying, “Careful! That arrow pierced your kidney. You don’t want to tear the sutures.”

 

The injured man nodded a thank you for the assistance as he lay more comfortably now and continued, “Mycroft has a thing for that girl and it’s going to kill him if something happens to her.”

 

“I don’t really care too much for Mycroft’s feelings right now, I’m just worried about her and Molly,” John responded as he sat back in his seat. He wished he could just take a nap as he felt his migraine grow slightly. The stress of the past few days was taking its toll.

 

Greg’s brow furrowed and he asked carefully, “What happened to Molly?”

 

John froze, realizing that Greg had been out of the loop on what had happened with Molly as well. He had assumed he knew. He groaned inwardly to himself, not wanting to give him the news of Molly but he knew he had to. With a heavy heart he explained what had occurred while he had been at the compound and in surgery.

 

“Molly appears to be stable for the time being. She had a few seizures and her blood pressure bottomed out but they got it back up. She’s on a ventilator for the time being,” John explained as simply as he could. Any more details and he might start crying.

 

“Christ,” Greg said in utter shock and then growled, “I’m going to kill that fucking bastard Moriarty the second I see him. I swear to god, John.” The anger in his voice was something John had never heard before he felt confident that he would do exactly as he said. He couldn’t blame him though. Moriarty was destroying their lives in a cruel and vicious way. He felt they were nothing but animals being hunted.

 

Greg’s expression softened and he asked, “How’s Sherlock holding up?”

 

That was another thing that broke John’s heart. Sherlock had become cold and despondent to every single one of them since Molly had been hospitalized. He had no idea what was going on in his best friend’s mind but he assumed it was some method of coping. Even Mycroft had told him he was at a loss for how to deal with his brother. Sherlock had been provided the arrow that had struck the detective inspector and had been locked away in the laboratory for hours, refusing to let anyone in. Even when Anthea had arrived with her forged paperwork declaring herself as Molly’s sister he could not be bothered to take in a status report on the woman who seemed to matter more than anyone before.

 

“He’s fine,” was all that John could manage to say. Greg stared with suspicion but did not press the issue further. The slight uncomfortableness of the situation was eased when a nurse came in, “Hello, Detective Inspector. Glad to see you’re awake. I just need to push some meds through your IV and look you over and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

 

The nurse had a thick Scottish accent, red hair, and glowing green eyes. She was a pop of intense color in the dreary room. She appeared to be in her early thirties with a slight limp in her step. She carried a container filled with basic drugs and empty blood work vials John looked her over as well and then excused himself, giving his friend privacy as he had no desire to see his arse poking out of his hospital gown when they turned him over.

 

The nurse set her things down on the counter near his bed, “How is the pain?” 

 

Greg shrugged, “I’d say about a 5.” In fact, his pain was much worse but he grit his teeth and hid the truth. With everything that had been happening, the last thing he wanted was to be put on heavy painkillers that would dull his mind. He was no Sherlock and so he needed every advantage he could possibly afford himself in this deadly game.

 

“Only a 5? That’s quite impressive, sir,” the nurse cooed and gave him a soft smile. He couldn’t help but smile back. Her pale skin looked incredibly inviting to him. She had just a small group of freckles across her nose and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch them. A lock of her hair that had been tucked behind her ear fell forward. It’s bright color contrasted beautifully across her white skin. He was mesmerized by her.

 

The nurse saw Greg’s intense stare and blushed before fumbling with the small bottles of drugs in her case. She paused for a moment to compose herself, patting the top of her case to give her a moment to breath. Greg couldn’t help but smile at her flustered behavior. It had been a long time since he had played this game of cat and mouse. She may just be his nurse but he needed something to cheer him up after several days of pure misery. A few minutes of flirting wasn’t going to kill him.

 

Finally, feeling composed enough, the nurse picked up a small glass container with words to small to be read from Greg’s position. She held the jar upside down, the large sleeve slid down her thin arm to pool around her elbow, and picked up a syringe. She flicked the cap off with her thumbnail, which was painted cherry red, and pierced the foil of the bottle and slowly filled the syringe.

 

Greg paled as he watched her and his stomach dropped. He waited for her to set the bottle down and approach him with the syringe. He eyed her intently and she made an obvious effort to avoid his dark eyes. She reached out to his hand so that she could inject the drug through his open lock that was taped to the back of his hand.

 

Before the nurse was able to grab his hand, he reached out and grabbed hers and pulled her down to him. The shock of the movement caused her to drop the syringe as she fell on top of her patient. Greg screamed in pain from the pressure caused by her weight on with his wound and grabbed her arm and painfully twisted it around. 

 

“You bitch!” Greg screamed as he had a better view of what he noticed when she was preparing whatever possible drug she was going to give him. On her pale wrist was a large knot of scar tissue and in the middle of it was a branded magpie.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update. I've been procrastinating and having some writer's block. I've been typing up the start of a few new stories to help me through my block and once this story is done, I'll look forward to posting those. Anyways, thanks to those who have been supporting me so far and thank you for being patient!

“Mycroft, this is Anthea, open the door.”

 

The words boldly filled the dark room that Mycroft hid in. He had quietly placed himself into Natalia’s now empty room and pushed a chair under the doorknob to achieve solitude for a short while. He knew there was no deterring Anthea, especially since she had lost touch with Irene. The two attempts on Greg’s life, the abduction of Natalia, Molly’s poisoning, and the loss and suffering of many of his men and women were beginning to take their toll on him. He was beyond exhausted despite having slept in quarantine.

 

Mycroft grudgingly straightened his back and slid off the bed that he had been sitting on, indian style, like a little boy. With several deep and determined breaths, he composed himself and walked to the door, flipping the lights on before removing the chair from the path of the door and opening the room to Anthea.

 

It was quite out of character for Anthea to wrap her arms around her employer and hook her hands up and over his shoulders. The sudden movement caught Mycroft off guard. Her face buried in his chest before he could even comprehend her vulnerability. He found his arms too heavy and awkward to control and so they remained limp at his sides but he had to admit that he felt tension ease away but only slightly. The comfort lasted for only a few moments as he began to feel the woman shake. He realized too quickly that she was crying and it was the first time she had shed real tears in front of him in all the years that he had been mentoring her.

 

Without a second thought upon the new realization, Mycroft felt his arms move on their own accord and pull the brunette tightly to his chest. He lowered his head and rested his chin against the side of her head.

 

The embrace lasted for only a few seconds more before Anthea pulled away. Her eyes were red with small traces of old makeup smudged along her eyes. Her hair was greasy and slightly tangled and stress lines were quite apparent along her brow. He knew that Anthea was the greatest understudy he could ever wish to have and she was displaying her full worth and abilities in this never-ending attack they found themselves in. He wondered for a moment if he was getting too soft when he found himself accepting her emotional outburst.

 

“Any word on The Woman?” Mycroft asked, not using his normal bitter tone when he would say the name. Anthea rubbed her tired eyes and shook her head, “Nothing so far. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m lost, Mycroft.”

 

Mycroft frowned, “We’re all apparently lost. We just need to find a small opening in Moriarty’s bulletproof plan.”

 

Anthea stepped further into the room, past Mycroft, and climbed on the disheveled hospital bed, “You have full access to Molly now. I haven’t been able to get to Sherlock, if you know what I mean.” She tapped her head and he nodded knowingly, “I need to rest my eyes for a little while so if you could please just take over…”

 

“Absolutely,” Mycroft quickly replied, “please rest. I’ll have a guard posted to your door.” He was met with a feeble smile and already closed eyes as she sprawled across the bed and hugged a pillow to her cheek.

 

A sad smile graced Mycroft’s lips as he slipped out of the room, turning the lights off and shutting the door, and texted for two agents to stand at the door immediately. He refused to move from the door for the few minutes it took for the male and female agents to arrive. 

 

After checking their identities and ranks, he assessed their alertness. He did not want to have them sleeping at their posts or being incapable of defending Anthea. He was certain she had her handgun on her but he wanted to take no risks. With great hesitation, Mycroft left Anthea to slumber.

 

Sherlock was Mycroft’s first mission and he found him working intently in the hospital’s morgue. He took no notice to his older brother’s intrusion. It didn’t offend him as he had received similar treatment throughout most of their lives. Sometimes, Mycroft wished it wasn’t so.

 

There were a lot of things Mycroft wished were different. He supposed it all stemmed from Sherlock in the end. He did not remember always being so closed off to the world but having a rather difficult sibling to watch out for proved too much a task for the weak and emotional. Sentiment was a fault their mother carried and the stress and burden that Sherlock had put not only on her but the whole family sometimes made them quite resentful of themselves. Mrs. Holmes believed it to be a situation brought forth by nurture. Mycroft was clearly aware that it was strictly the case of nature in regards to his baby brother.

 

“Perhaps, Sherlock, you should rest soon,” Mycroft announced to Sherlock with his typical cool tone but a small part of it was flawed with concern. There was no response from his sibling. He sighed, rubbing his hands to fight off the frigidness of the room, but continued to speak, “I know you feel compelled to exert your body further than the average person but this is not an average case. You need to rest.”

 

Sherlock, who had been meticulously dropping precisely measured samples into test tubes, slammed the dropper down and glared at his brother, “I do not need your advice, seeing as how everything you have ordered in the past few days has led to the near death of nearly every single person I give a damn about!”

 

Mycroft was taken aback by the sharpness and severity of the tone of his voice as well as the emotional concern. He was fully aware that he had tucked his feelings deep inside himself to allow himself to work without distraction but he did not realize that he was still tethered to those hidden feelings. He was at a loss for words and felt slight relief that Sherlock turned away from him and resumed his work.

 

Accepting that Sherlock was not going to be very social in the near future, Mycroft decided it best to leave the morgue. He offered an ignored but polite nod of his head to his brother and quietly slipped out of the cold room. He approached the bank of elevators, hitting the button to call for one, and frowned when he saw a nurse push an infant in a covered bed. A blue blanket was tucked around him. He noted the identical bandages wrapped around each little arm and the sickly demeanor and general small size of the baby boy. He could hear the faint hiss of oxygen being fed into the small cubicle formed by the cover.

 

The nurse, a male with a solemn expression on his face, gave Mycroft an uneasy and forced smile that did not reach his eyes. He felt uneasy himself when the doors finally opened they stepped inside the spacious elevator. Despite being able to stand several feet away, Mycroft still felt trapped knowing the obvious fate of the infant.

 

“Sorry, mate,” the nurses soft voice said after several agonizingly long moments of silence. Mycroft turned to look at the man, face frozen into an expressionless facade despite feeling more overwhelmed than he could comprehend.

 

“Do you mind pushing the button for floor six?” the nurse asked. Mycroft gulped and nodded his head very slightly. He took a heavy breath and reached out for the panel and pushed the appropriate button as well as for the button for the seventh floor. He stepped away from the panel and glanced up at the sign over the head of the elevator door as they began to ascend. He noted that the sixth floor contained the NICU while the base floor they had been on contained not only the morgue but also the dialysis center. The seventh floor housed the CCU, where Molly Hooper was being treated.

 

Despite his mind telling him not to, Mycroft glanced across the elevator to the infant. He was awake and tiredly looking around at nothing in particular. He was too young to know what was going on and Mycroft felt a strong tug in his chest. His eyes shifted slightly to the name on the basket holding the baby and couldn’t help but let out an audible gasp when it read, “Baby Doe.”

 

The nurse looked to Mycroft but said nothing. The look in his eyes asked if he was ok. He nodded and rubbed at his sternum and looked ahead at the elevator doors, praying the doors would open despite being only on the third floor.

 

After what felt likes ages, Mycroft gasped again when the elevator doors opened and shut after the nurse and baby exited. He felt his head and heart pound in separate rhythms and his lungs screaming for air. He pulled on the scrubs he was still wearing, fanning it to provide a slightly cool breeze on his face but it didn’t feel of any use.

 

The elevators doors opened once more and Mycroft bolted out, nearly tackling an orderly in the process. He leaned against the wall and sobbed violently, scared and confused. His eyes began to slip in and out of focus. All he could feel was his chest tightening and the oxygen escaping from but not returning to his lungs. The fear was beyond him now and his body shook aggressively as let out more sob and slipped away.


	27. Chapter 27

Natalia knew deep down that James Moriarty would not kill her in her sleep while she was still carrying their son. It did not make resting any easier. An unmeasurable time passed in the room. She periodically lay on the luxurious and comfortable bed with barely a wink of sleep. Her captor had not returned to the room after their bath and his absence left Natalia on edge, fearing his inevitable return.

 

Occasionally, she would hear heavy footsteps pace outside the door. She assumed it was a guard of some sort and that calling for help of any kind would be of no use. Periodically, the door would slip open and an elegant silver plate with gorgeous food arrangements would be pushed in on a small cart. It would happen so quickly that she never saw more than a hand push the cart in or pull it back out. The meals had become her only sense of time. As she had only just been presented with a plate of breakfast food, she knew it was morning.

 

The tanned woman had been left with nothing clean to change into originally except for a lavender baby doll. It rested several inches above her knee due to the fabric having to drape over her belly. The revealing lace cups accented her breasts and made her feel exposed and humiliated. During her midday meals, the cart would hold a similar change of clothes. She was sure that there was some form of surveillance in the room and that someone, if not James, was watching her. She spent what she was sure was the first night with the blanket up to her chin, fighting back tears, trying to feel something other than truly terrified.

 

Natalia had always been a stomach sleeper. It was something that often confused previous partners and even her parents while she was growing up. In recent weeks, she had found that pregnancy would not allow her normal way and had adopted an adequate but less satisfying position of sleeping slightly on her side. Now, despite years of sleeping on her front, she refused to even attempt to sleep in her modified way. She allowed the bite on her shoulder to throb under her own weight in order to be aware of her surroundings as she lay on her back, pillows propping her up.

 

Moments would occur when Natalia felt her head dip low but the moment her chin touched chest, she startled. Sometimes, she awoke without having realized she had fallen asleep and panicked when she saw she was still in her glorious prison. During trips to the bathroom, she glanced at her reflection and continuously frowned at the redness that had replaced the whites of her eyes and the bags that formed under them. Her eyes almost looked bruised. 

 

There had been three breakfasts brought to the room since she had last seen James, or so she thought. It was how she tried to keep track of the days but they were blurring together. On what she assumed was the third day, she had went to the bathroom and turned her back to the mirror. Looking over her shoulder, she glanced at the angry wound her unwanted lover had left. She had awoken from an unintended slumber feeling like it was on fire. A trickle of sweat falling down the tip of her nose to her lip had been her reason for stirring. During her rest, she realized she had been running a fever.

 

Natalia didn’t need her paramedic training to tell it was becoming infected despite having washed it regularly. The surrounding skin was alarmingly red against her olive complexion and the teeth marks were swollen and raised. She bit back a sob, fearful that it would get worse and that she would be left to suffer a slow and painful death in the room.

 

Not having much of a choice, Natalia waited by the door that led out from the bedroom but always remained locked. She was unsure of how long she had waited but the moment she heard footsteps she pounded on the door.

 

“Please, is anyone out there?! I need a doctor!” Natalia had called out. She pressed her ear to the door after pushing her unwashed hair out of the way. She heard the footsteps slow and then eventually come to a halt. She felt a flutter of hope in her chest and called out again, “Can you hear me? Please, I need help!”

 

Several long and painfully silent moments passed. The desperate woman received no response and soon enough the footsteps resumed and faded away. Natalia scratched at the door and sobbed, pounding at the wood weakly. Her tears used the remaining energy she had and so she silently sunk to the floor, leaning against the door. 

 

The familiar feeling of the baby kicking within her pulled Natalia from her desperation. She placed her hand on her belly and whispered, “I’m trying. I’m trying so hard.” The tickling sensation underneath her skin continued, keeping her distracted as she rubbed it gently. She knew she had to be strong for her son but her mind was quickly giving up after the months of torment it had put up with.

 

The door opened without warning and Natalia fell into the hallway. Her arms splayed out on cold linoleum and her fingertips brushed a pair of black, stubby heels. She looked at them with shock before allowing her eyes to wander up, ignoring the black skirt and creme blouse, to cold eyes that looked blue, grey, and green all at once and surrounded by elegant makeup. Blonde hair was pulled back almost severely into a tight bun. 

 

“Get her up,” the woman said sharply. Natalia looked around and saw there were two men, both quite large and muscular, who moved clumsily as they hooked their strong arms under her armpits and hoisted her up. The woman stepped aside to reveal a wheel chair and surprisingly enough, the pregnant woman was lowered as gently as could be expected.

 

The men stepped aside so that the blonde could stand before Natalia. With a sigh, she looked down at her and asked, “What’s the problem, love?” Her tone was softer than when she addressed the men. Natalia looked up at her with her wide, tired eyes. She tried to gulp but her throat was dry. With shaky hands, she tried to motion to her shoulder. She was met with a nod and the woman stepped around her, touching with cool fingers the swollen area gently.

 

“Dear me, that is infected,” the woman said with concern in her words. Natalia could not hear what she was saying as she had become aware that the men were staring at her in her revealing outfit. It was a sheer black nightie that flowed freely from just beneath her breasts. She suddenly realized why James was having these clothes sent to her. She felt embarrassed to be seen and it made her want to crawl back into the room and hide from disrespectful eyes.

 

“I’ll take her to the hospital wing. I’m armed so neither of you will be necessary,” Natalia heard and glanced back up at the men who looked disappointed but nodded respectfully. They departed to the pregnant woman’s relief. She didn’t have a moment to thank this mysterious woman as she quickly began to push her down the hallway.

 

Natalia tried to keep track of the turns and hallways that she was pushed through. After the third turn, with her delirious state, she wouldn’t have been able to find her way out of a paper bag. She was finally pushed into the elevator but was left to face the back so she could not see the buttons or the floor they were on. She heard the doors close behind her and felt the lurch in her stomach as the elevator began to drop.

 

Several seconds later, the elevator came to violent stop. It made the wheelchair roll into the back wall, hitting her knees painfully against the stainless steel. Natalia cried out in pain but only for a moment before a hand covered over her mouth, “Quiet!” A whimper managed to escape despite the smothering hand across her face.

 

“Where is John Watson?” the woman asked fiercely but quietly in her ear. Her hand was still on her mouth but she slid it down onto her chin, ready to cover it again in case Natalia screamed. She didn’t scream but instead let out a sob as she tried to search her brain for the answer that was right there. She was scared and panicked and the grip on her chin was getting tight enough to leave bruises. The woman whispered in her ear again, “Answer me. I’m on your side.”

 

There was no way for Natalia to tell if this woman was telling the truth or trying to get information out of her. She couldn’t betray anyone that had tried to help her since they had all suffered so much for her. 

 

“Who are you?” Natalia managed to say but quietly. She was almost certain they were being monitored in the brightly lit elevator. A quick glance to the corner ceiling proved right when she saw the small camera pointed toward them. She received no answer but a sharp smack across her face. She cried out again and clutched her cheek, rubbing the sharp pain away.

 

“Where is John Watson?” she was asked again in a low hiss. Natalia glanced up nervously at the woman and frowned when she saw the immense look of worry in her eyes. Her face looked hard and severe but her eyes spoke of a different story. It was at that moment that Natalia realized that she was putting up a front to protect them both.

 

Natalia gulped, glancing at the camera again before whispering to the woman about the hospital. She did not know if he or anyone else that had been at the hospital with her were safe but she did not say so aloud. Her brief answer satisfied the woman and a few moments later the elevator began to move again. This time, the woman held onto the wheelchair to keep Natalia from hitting the wall again.

 

“Don’t you think about getting bold with me again, you little bitch,” the woman growled loudly and Natalia knew she was speaking for the camera and not her. Natalia nodded and let out a sob that wasn’t fake as she was in pain and quite scared, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

 

Natalia was relieved when the elevator stopped and the doors open. She was wheeled down a short hallway where a set of double doors loomed at the end. The woman approached them and waved her wrist over a metal plate on the wall. The clicking of the locks on the doors echoed in the quiet hallway before the doors swung open before them. They entered the room quickly. 

 

Thankfully, the room was not anything like Natalia feared. She had half expected to see a laboratory filled with scary experiments similar to the horror stories she had read about in her history classes about the Nazis. It was plan but sterile room that seemed equipped for most common medical emergencies and, to Natalia’s dismay, delivery as well. The stirrups on the sole exam table made sweat more than she was already.

 

“I’m going to give you IV antibiotics and a probiotic supplement,” the woman said as stepped before the pregnant and delirious woman, holding her hands out to her. Natalia hesitated for only a moment before allowing the woman to help her up. She guided her onto the exam table but thankfully did not put her feet int he stirrups.

 

“Who are you?” Natalia asked for the second time as the woman began to open drawers and cabinets, collecting supplies and a pair of neatly folded scrubs. The woman sighed and glanced back at her, “You can call me Amanda.” Natalia nodded at her response and then thanked her as she approached with the scrubs in hand.

 

“I imagine these would be more comfortable than what you’re wearing. It’s a bit cold in hear and you’re running quite a temperature. I can’t have you getting worse,” Amanda said. She assisted Natalia in removing the revealing nightie, not batting an eye at the nudity. She helped her don the scrubs and then retrieved a pair of scissors, “I’m going to cut the backside so that I can have access to your wound.”

 

Natalia nodded and blinked away tears as she said, “He bit me.” Bile felt ready to rise as she replayed the events that had occurred when she received the bite. She held it down and tried to remain calm as she felt Amanda’s gentle hands cut a square of fabric away. She went back to the counter and pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and returned with a small tray of medical supplies.

 

In silence, Amanda cleaned the wound as best as she could without hurting Natalia. Regardless of how gentle she was, Natalia still let out occasional gasps of pain. She sighed in relief when she was done. She didn’t even care about the IV that Amanda had started on her but she was grateful she had placed it on the arm opposite of the one she had done on herself several days back.

 

“I’m running a mild pain reliever through your IV. It won’t be harmful to the baby but I’ll have to monitor every hour so,” Amanda said as she hung the solutions on a pole that she had wheeled up to the table. Natalia gave her a tired but sincere smile and was about to thank her when she felt cold metal wrap around her free arm. The clicking sound of the handcuff caused her to immediately panic and try to pull away.

 

“What are you doing?!” Natalia tried to fight but Amanda only gave her a somber look. She backed away, “I’m not your friend, Natalia.”

 

“You don’t need to lock me up like an animal!” Natalia cried out and pulled roughly on the handcuff. She looked down on it and saw that it was attached to a thick metal loop firmly bolted into the table. She could pull all she wanted but she’d never break free.

 

Natalia gave Amanda a pleading look as tears began to stream down her face. Her eyes were already sore and the fresh tears felt like said rubbing on her lids. Amanda sighed, “Mr. Moriarty will be visiting shortly. I’ll check on your dosage when he leaves.”

 

“Amanda!” Natalia cried out as the older woman turned around and quietly exited the room.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SO SO SO SOOOOOOOO sorry that it's been forever since I've updated. This story has never left my mind but the motivation to write has been hard to find. I've had a lot going on in my life and it's been hard getting back into the groove with the characters and having it flow. If things don't line up right, just let me know. I had a story line planned out but lost my notes so I'm trying to remember how I wanted it all to go.

“Sylvia, darling, please hand me that blanket,” Irene asked the lanky teenager as she huddled in the corner of their makeshift prison. Sylvia had woken up to find the Woman had pulled an old pipe from the wall that had been bypassed by newer plumbing at least a decade ago. The rust rubbed off on her skin and ruined her manicure but she couldn’t be bothered.

Sylvia grabbed the closest blanket to her, though it was more like tissue in her hand with how thin it was. She handed the material to Irene and asked, “What are you doing?”

The Woman raised her eyes to the door to make sure no one was looking in and shifted her body slightly to try and hide her acquired treasure more and said quietly, “The next time the guard comes in, I want you laying in the corner. Clutch your right side and act like you’re in pain.”

Sylvia frowned as the idea of anything that would draw attention to her and said, “That doesn’t explain what you’re doing.” This earned an annoyed look from the Woman who began stuffing the blanket through pipe. She looked into the young girl’s eyes and said, “Do you want to go home to your family?”

“Of course,” she replied, “I just don’t want to go home in a body bag.”

Irene paused her hands and looked Sylvia with a grim expression, “If we don’t get out of her, you’ll be wishing you were dead.”

“What can possibly be worse than death?” said the naïve girl, looking at Irene in disbelief. The woman sighed, put the pipe down and turned to face the girl fully. She grabbed her hands and looked intently in her eyes, “They didn’t just take you to try and ransom you back to your father.”

Sylvia scoffed, “Of course they did. My dad is a politician. These kinds of things happen all the time.”

Children were not Irene’s specialty and she fought the urge to yell at her. She squeezed her hands tightly, trying to relay the urgency of her words in the touch as she continued, “They are going to be breed you and rip your baby away and breed you again and again. And when you can’t make anymore babies, they will either kill you or sell you to someone like a slave.”

“But that’s illegal,” Sylvia couldn’t help but gasp. Irene looked at her in disbelief, “Of course, it’s illegal. Who ever said criminals followed the rules?”

Sylvia shook her head in disbelief, “These kind of things only happen in the movies.” The Woman gripped her hands even tighter, “This is not a movie, Sylvia. This is real life and human trafficking happens every single day. I’m trying to save us and I need you to cooper-”

The door swung open before Irene could finish her sentence and the guard who had smirked at Irene came in. The other women, who had been asleep, scuttled to the far edges of the room in fear. The man smiled at them all and looked around, “Anyone here know how to play piano?”

There was dead silence in the room as no one spoke up. The guard sighed in mock annoyance, “Come on, ladies. I need a musician.”

There was a young woman in the corner opposite Irene and Sylvia that shyly waved her hands. She spoke with a thick French accent and said, “I played piano as a little girl.”

“Good enough,” the guard said and approached her. Without pause, he grabbed her by her hair and began to drag her. The other woman screamed in horror and reached out to her as she was pulled away but when the man waved the gun at them, they all shrunk back.

“I’ll find studs for you soon enough, ladies,” the guard laughed as he pulled the woman to her feet by her hair. She was screaming in pain but the guard ignored her. He pushed her out the door and slammed it shut again. 

Irene looked seriously at Sylvia, ignoring the whimpering from the other women and said, “Does this still look like a movie to you?”


	29. Chapter 29

Anthea wished for more sleep when she heard the gentle knocking echo in the room. She was initially startled but calmed when she remembered she was in the hospital room. She called out into the dark, “Come in.”

The door slowly opened and the doctor that had been treating Molly stood in the door. Anthea felt her throat tighten, scared what he would tell her of Molly’s condition. She stared intently at him as he turned on the light on, not flinching as her eyes adjusted to the harsh light.

“What happened to Molly?” Anthea asked urgently, her heart racing in fear. The pounding in her chest was so strong it burned. It made her want to rip her skin off as she anticipated the terrible news about her friend.

“I hope you’ve had enough time to rest. I apologize for disturbing you,” the doctor said. He stood calmly in the doorway. Anthea could see her guards standing behind him, hands at the ready to draw their weapons. 

The doctor seemed to not notice or have much concern for her armed security. He said, “I’m Dr. Evans, I’ve been treating your…”

“My sister, yes, I know. Is she ok?” Anthea spoke quickly over the doctor, no trace of sleep was apparent on her. She was back on guard.

 

Dr. Evans nodded slightly, “She’s currently stable. I was informed by Mr. Holmes to bring you to his room and explain his condition.”

 

Anthea looked confused at the doctor and asked, “Sherlock or Mycroft?” The doctor looked blankly at Anthea for a moment and blushed, “I apologize but I didn’t get his first name.”

 

“Does he have dark curls?” the frustrated woman demanded. Dr. Evans shook his head and immediately Anthea was off the bed, “Where’s Mycroft and what did you do to him?!”

 

The guards at the door had been listening intently and upon Anthea’s outburst, raised their guns and pointed them at Dr. Evan’s back. Anthea drew her own gun and the doctor paled. His hands raised and his face fell, “I-I-I…” he stuttered, not finding the words. Anthea stared angrily at him for several moments as he began to cry. She tried to think about what had caused her to draw her weapon but she couldn’t recall a good reason. The guards had done so because of her own hostility toward the man. 

 

Realizing that she was acting irrationally, largely due to her exhaustion that she was trying to ignore, she lowered her gun, “Guns down and out of this room.”

 

The guards obeyed Anthea but lowered their guns slowly, They stepped away from the door and Anthea stepped over to swing the door shut again. Without a word, she grabbed the doctor by the arm and walked him over to the bed and allowed him to sit.

 

“I apologize, doctor, we’re not in a good place right now,” Anthea said softly. The doctor was still in a state of shock and his eyes had watered slightly. She sighed, “Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this but if you can keep yourself together we could give you a nice incentive when this is all over.”

 

Dr. Evans looked at Anthea and scoffed, “Who the hell do you think you are, MI5? I can’t be bought off.”

 

Anthea sighed again, “We’re bigger than MI5 and what we’re dealing with… this is life or death for potentially thousands of people.”

 

“You think I’ll believe you just because you can point your gun at me. I’m trying to help,” Dr. Evans snapped out. Anthea nodded, “I understand but you need to listen to me.”

 

“Would you care to hear about your boyfriend first?” the doctor asked and Anthea paused. She looked at him for a moment, ignoring the boyfriend remark, and nodded. “What happened to Mycroft and is he ok?”

 

“He collapsed. We thought it was a heart attack but it was a severe anxiety attack. He’s currently resting and we put him on Xanax. I’m guessing if you are carrying guns in a hospital, your job must be very stressful,” the doctor said, speaking nastily about the gun and ending with sarcasm in his voice.

 

Anthea stood up quickly, “What room is he in? And why the hell did you give him drugs?”

 

The doctor looked in shock at Anthea, “I’m a doctor and I know how to treat my patients. He needed something to take the edge off.”

 

Anthea gripped her gun tightly, fighting the urge to hit the man with it but yelled, “He needs that edge if he’s going to stay alive. Do you not understand that we are being hunted?”

 

“By whom?” The doctor asked almost casually, not taking Anthea seriously at all. She shoved him and held the gun in front of her so that he could be reminded of it again but she did not point it at him.

“James Moriarty, the terrorist who attacked London, is back and he’s trying to kill all of us. That’s why Molly is fighting for her life and Mycroft is having an anxiety attack. We haven’t slept for days because we are trying to STAY ALIVE!” Anthea screamed at the end. The doctor shifted away from her, looking at her like she was crazier than he imagined.

 

“Clearly, you’re useless and once we’ve survived this I will do exactly what Mycroft said and ruin your career. Now, where the hell is he?” Anthea demanded.

 

“Room 434.”

 

“Don’t bother coming back up, you’re no longer his physician,” Anthea spat out and went to the door. Opening it and slamming it shut behind her.


	30. Chapter 30

John felt sick to his stomach as he sat next to Greg’s bed while holding his gun toward the red haired nurse. He had come in the room seeing Greg fighting her off. Even though he was in a compromised state, he still overpowered the weak woman. John tackled her down and using IV tubing in a cupboard, he tied her wrists behind her back as well as her ankles together. 

While Greg explained what had happened, John looked over the drugs the nurse had brought in and his stomach dropped when he say the vial of Pavulon. Had she succeeded in administering the drug, Greg would have respiratory muscles would have been paralyzed and he would have surely died an excruciating death.

“What does Moriarty have on you?” John asked as his first question. She had not said a word the entire time John had been in the room. He did not expect her to give him away easily but she surprisingly did.

With tears falling from her vivid green eyes she sobbed, “He has my baby! He has my little girl!”

John looked to Greg who only showed anger in his eyes but remained silent. John softened slightly but still remained firm as he asked, “Who are you and how did you come by Moriarty?”

“Muireen and I met him at the petrol station. He told me my baby was beautiful and then offered to buy us lunch,” she cried. 

After several sobs and a hiccup she added, “There must have been something in my food or drink because I feel asleep in the parking lot. I woke up and my baby was gone. This burn was in my wrist and a note saying he’d be in contact was tied around it.”

“Did you ever report her missing? We get every missing child notice sent to us and I’ve never heard of it,” Greg spoke up. While most of his staff at the Yard would ignore all the missing child reports outside of the vicinity of London, he always took the time to read and review them. It could be time consuming sometimes but he felt it was his duty in case he could ever help.

Muireen shook her head, “How could I? His note said he’d kill her if I went to the police.”

“What’s her name?” John asked, no longer holding his gun in front of him. It had no effect on her as she continued to cry over and over again, “Katie.”

John sighed and handed his gun to Greg who watched with cautious eyes as his friend kneeled beside her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “If you’re truly a victim of Moriarty, we can do what we can to help.”

“You can’t even help yourselves! How are you going to get my baby girl back?” Muireen yelled. She struggled against her restraints and turned her head, trying to bite at John’s hand. He pulled it back but felt her chapped lips scrap across the back of his hand.

There was a click and both John and Muireen looked at Greg who had turned the safety off on the weapon and was pointing it at the hysterical female. “Listen, I have very little patience for you since you just tried to kill me. You either accept our proposal to join us or we can have you locked up. You’ll never see your daughter and that madman can raise her for all we care.”

“Greg, put the gun down!” John yelled, stepping in front of the woman and holding his hands up. He pointed the weapon toward John’s legs and yelled for him to get out of the way. John refused, “This is not getting us anywhere! Put the gun down!”

The injured man growled, clicked the safety back on, and dropped the gun on his lap. John let out a sigh of relief and stepped forward to take the gun back. He tucked it into his waistband said to the two of them, “Can we please come to some sort of agreement?”

Both Muireen and Greg made grunting sounds and refused to look at one another. John rubbed the tension growing in his forehead, “You two are both brats, you know that?”

The two of them yelled. Muireen shouting, “I want my baby back!” while Greg yelled, “She tried to kill me!” John shouted over them, “I don’t care!” They looked offended at him as he said, “We all need each other if we want to stay alive. Can we please focus on Moriarty? He’s the real enemy.”

“And how do you think that’s gonna happen?” Greg said with disbelief at John’s suggestion. Muireen said nothing but started intently at John, waiting for him to continue.

John looked nervously at Greg and said, “I think it’s time we find out what Moran really wants from us and we’re not asking Mycroft for permission first.

 

\------------

“You look like shit,” Anthea tried to said with a playful tone but she just sounded heartbroken as she watched Mycroft stare lazily at the television in his room. He did look terrible. He was pale and despondent though he tried to look at her with something more than faint recognition.

The concerned woman quickly approached him and pulled his larger hand into her smaller ones, “As soon as these drugs wear off we are getting the hell out of here, Mycroft.”

Her sedated employer hummed, not even with a tone of caring. She frowned and leaned forward to kiss his head. “I’m going to have the guards stay here for you while I check on Molly.”

It took a few moments for Mycroft to respond but only with a slight nod of his head. She rested his hand back on his lap, but not before giving it a tight squeeze, and left the room. The guards that had been at her room were now posted to Mycroft’s and she threatened their lives should anything happen to him. They nodded knowingly and stood at the door despite the odd looks the other occupants of the hospital gave them as they wandered by. They were no longer in their own and confined area of the hospital.

Anthea growled when she saw her least favorite doctor through the window as she approached Molly’s room. She paused in her tracks when she saw that Molly’s eyes were open and she was smiling weakly at the man she promised to destroy.

Without another thought and a feeling of lightness she hadn’t felt in days, Anthea ran into the room and flung herself at Molly. She refrained from squeezing her too hard as she yelled, “I’m so happy you’re alive, you have no idea!”

“Still want to ruin my career?” Dr. Evans asked rudely as Anthea looked over her friend with happiness. Her smile crashed and a venomous look fell over her face. “Don’t you dare speak to me,” she spat out.

Molly looked nervously between the two standing over her, not sure if she should say something with her aching throat from the tube that had been there to assist her breathing only a few hours ago. 

“On behalf of your sister, I will tell you her throat is probably in rough condition from the breathing tube. She may not say much,” Dr. Evans said thoughtfully before excusing himself from the room. Molly nod toward his retreating frame and then looked up at Anthea. 

“It’s been hell in a handbag since you were poisoned,” Anthea said with a hint of happiness to Molly, expressing that her open eyes happened to be the first good thing in what felt like ages. Molly frowned but allowed Anthea to take her left hand and squeeze as she continuted, “You’re my best friend and with Irene in unplanned radio silence, I don’t think I could have handled losing you. We even lost Natalia.”

“What?” Molly croaked and then cringed at the pain. She rubbed at her throat with her free hand and swallowed with difficulty. Anthea scolded her for talking, “You need to save your voice and relax. I don’t mean to upset you but I have no one else to confide in.”

Molly looked at Anthea with sympathy in her eyes and nodded at her, urging her to continue. Anthea sighed, “We think Moriarty abducted Natalia from her room. Sherlock has shut off everything human about him. Mycroftt had a nervous breakdown and your doctor stupidly pumped him so full of xanax that he has no idea which way is up. Greg was shot with an arrow and John’s looking after him. Moran’s son is running loose in our ranks and is trying to negotiate with us to get his own daughter back from Moriarty but I trust him about as far as I could throw a piano. Irene went to infiltrate one of Moriarty’s infertility scams and we lost contact with her and have no idea what happened to her or the agent she was with. Not to mention you were poisoned. The past few days have been total and absolute shit.”

Molly squeezed back onto Anthea’s hand several times with various pressures and Anthea laughed, “I didn’t know that you know morse code!”

Molly had said, “It will be ok.”

\------------------------

Days had passed, Natalia was sure of that and very unsure of nearly everything else. The bite on her shoulder was slowly healing thanks to the antibiotics she could tell were now being crushed and sprinkled on top of her meals along with pre-natal vitamins. 

Amanda periodically checked on her but she refused to say a word to her after she had left her for Moriarty in the exam room. The cruel man had taken advantage of her handcuffed to the exam table and brutally raped her. Her screams had been so loud that Amanda intervened, stating that the trauma could cause a miscarriage. 

After brushing his sweaty hair back that had been disheveled from his violent thrusting, Moriarty chuckled, “Why does everyone think that pregnant women are so helpless? They’ve only been doing this forever!”

Amanda frowned and looked over Natalia with Moriarty watching in fascination. There was blood between her legs and she was so scared and in pain to bring her knees together. “Sorry about this, dear,” Amanda tried to say with reassurance as she put a latex glove on and examined her exposed vagina. Natalia hissed at the intrusion and pain from the damage she was inspecting. 

“This needs to stop now,” Amanda finally said, pulling the glove off and staring angrily at her employer. Moriarty rolled his eyes, “I don’t pay you to lecture me nor to tell me how to use my toys.”

The blonde woman threw her blood-covered glove at his wrinkled shirt, leaving streaks of red on the pristinely white but wrinkled fabric. “There’s going to be scarring from this, James. She might not even be able to deliver naturally if this doesn’t heal right.”

Natalia looked helplessly at the two of them and started to draw her legs closed, cringing at the pain in her hips and then from the pain of having her thighs put pressure on Moriarty’s work. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, that’s my thing,” Moriarty laughed but then stopped and gave a grumpy look to Amanda, “Fix her then and find me someone else that I don’t have to be so delicate with.”

The pain had only just started to subside and Amanda checked on her everyday. Natalia could see in her eyes that she felt terrible about the events that had occurred that day but she never once apologized and that made the dark haired prisoner more disgusted with her.

“It looks like the scarring won’t be too bad but we may need to consider a c-section instead of a natural birth just to be safe,” Amanda announced as she pulled her exam gloves off and Natalia sat up on the exam table. She was grateful she was no longer being handcuffed but she still felt ready to cry every time she sat on it and remembered the terror of her captor strolling in as if he were taking her out like he had when he was still Jim in the flannel shirts. 

Natalia was allowed off the table and changed from the hospital gown Amanda had made wear into the embarrassing lingerie they were still making her wear. Today’s design was a black bra with sheer material for her nipples to be seen through and straps that connected down to her knickers. The crotch had a slit in it so that if she spread her legs, it would open and expose herself. Amanda had her wear the hospital gown to give her a small reprieve from undergarments even if she was still exposing herself but for those few minutes it was only to her and none of Moriarty’s men or the devil himself.

After being deposited back in her room, Natalia crawled into the bed and covered herself with the blankets. She pulled them over her head and cried as she had done everyday. Her hand slipped under her pillow and her fingers curled around an object she had been hiding well.

After the event in the bathtub with Moriarty, Natalia had salvaged the empty bottle of soap that he had used before he joined her. She dropped it into the bathtub the next day, allowing it to look like an accident and letting it shatter as she was sure she was on camera. She saved a particularly sharp piece that she was able to safely hold on to firmly.

Under the covers, Natalia looked at the olive glass and held it to her wrist. She had been doing this everyday, imaging the glass disappearing into her flesh and being allowed to bleed out into the sheets under the blankets. If she planned it right, she would have hours before anyone would check on her. As always, as she had these scary thoughts, the kicking would pick up and she’d feel the tickle in stomach. The tears fell harder and she slipped the glass back under the pillow. 

“If I did it, I’d be saving you, too,” Natalia whispered before sobbing uncontrollably thinking about the monster she was becoming.


	31. Chapter 31

Sherlock was standing over Molly’s sleeping frame as he went over all her charts. He had purposely avoided her to escape emotional distractions but curiosity took a hold as he wanted to see all her vitals and symptoms from the exposure to the poison as a way of trying to determine what it was that she had been injected with. He was finding himself stumped and had the medical staff of the hospital not been so astute with her care, she would have been dead. Sherlock would not allow himself into her room in his mind palace to feel the relief or the gratitude.

Anthea had informed him that she had finally begun to speak. Her abused throat was feeling better and she had asked for him several times but he never arrived until she had fallen asleep. He knew she wanted to share intimate words with him and he had every intention to avoid them.

After taking in the information her doctor and nurses had noted, he checked her vitals on the machinery surrounding her. Seeing everything was acceptable, he left the room without looking back.

Sherlock felt the itch for a smoke and had successfully swiped several packs and lighters from the employee lockers earlier in the day. He headed down the dimmed and quiet hallway toward the lifts. 

He pressed the buttons and sighed as he began the impatient wait for lift. There was a noise down the hall adjacent to the one he had just walked down and turned his gaze toward it. Hushed voices could be heard, causing the detective to squint curiously and abandon his quest for a smoke.

Sherlock’s steps were light and silent as he approached the voices. He relaxed when he heard a familiar voice say, “If Mycroft get’s word of this, we’re dead.”

It was John.

“I’d rather deal with him than his git of a brother.”

Lestrade.

Sherlock smirked and announced his presence, “Mycroft is most definitely the git, not I.”

“Oh my god, we’re dead!” screamed a female voice with a heavy Scottish accent. Sherlock frowned into the dark, “Who is that with you?”

“Stop being a twat, Sherlock” John stated as he stepped out of the shadows of what was Lestrade’s hospital room. He was slightly surprised to see a standing Lestrade as the man was still recovering from having his kidney pierced by an arrow from a mysterious assailant. Sherlock suspected the younger Moran but had no way of confirming it.

Sherlock was still smirking as John, Lestrade, and a red haired woman stood before him. He noticed Lestrade had a strong grip on the woman’s arm and he could see the tension between them based on their posture, body language, breathing rate, and the fact that they were both grinding their jaws.

“Where are we going?” Sherlock asked.

Lestrade and John looked to one another and nodded slightly, deciding between them that they could tell Sherlock in confidence and that he wouldn’t go running to Mycroft. John knew Sherlock would never give information to his brother voluntarily but Greg was less familiar with the relationship between the high-strung siblings. 

“We’re going for Moran,” John said quietly. His eyebrows rose as he looked suspiciously up and down the hallway to make sure no one was around to hear him. Sherlock asked, “Sebastian or his son?”

“Christ, I forgot there were two of them,” Greg said in disbelief. John cut in, “We’re after Sebastian.” Sherlock looked at the small group with skepticism, “How do you intend to get to the compound without a vehicle?”

John smirked and pulled a set of keys from his pocket, “Found a nurse on the roster for a double. She won’t be looking for her car for at least twelve hours.” Sherlock beamed with pride and then snatched the keys from his friend’s hand, “Very good, I’m driving.”

“Do you even know how to drive a car?” Lestrade asked in a whisper to Sherlock’s back as the taller man had already begun to walk back towards the elevators. 

“Don’t insult me, Graham.”   
\-------------------------------------

“I can’t believe that worked!” Sylvia cried out.

Irene, Sylvia, and the other women held captive in the boiler room looked down at the unconscious guard. There was no remorse for the trickle of blooding running behind his ear. The Woman dropped the pipe she had used to bring the guard down and fell to her knees.

“What are you doing?” Sylvia asked as Irene began to tug on the belt of the man. There was the sound of a clasp being undone and Irene quickly stood up, a handgun being clutched in slender fingers. She smiled at Sylvia and said, “This is how we’re getting out of here.”

One of the other women hissed, “You’re going to get us all killed!”

“I’d rather die than be a slave to these pigs,” Irene responded coldly as she began to inspect the gun. She stared the woman down and said, “You’re welcome to stay here. I can’t guarantee we’ll get help down here before they do anything to you.”

“Better than being shot for being stupid,” the terrified woman spat out. Irene could not be bothered to create believers out of the group of hostages.

Irene looked around the room at the battered women, “I’m offering a chance of escape. If you want to try to make a break for it on your own, I wish you the absolute best. I can’t guarantee anything to you if you come with me but I fill fight to the death to get out of here.”

“Do you even know how to use that gun?” one of the women piped up. Irene frowned. She confessed, “I’m all too familiar with guns and even more with taking a life if needed.” With Anthea in her life, she found herself embarrassed by her past. She could not change the things she had done but she was trying her best to be a better person. She wanted to prove that she was deserving of Anthea and all of her love. She did not want her actions to form a rift in their relationship. She knew that if Anthea had to make a choice between her position with Mycroft and the government and her relationship with Irene, she would choose her career every time. If The Woman were to kill tonight, it would be justified but it did not leave her feeling comforted.

Time was running out and Irene knew that if the other guards realized the unconscious man on the ground was taking to long that they would be coming around to check on him. The women were bickering with one another and Irene spoke over all of them, “The time to decide is now. If you are coming, get up and let’s go.”

They stared at one another and slowly two of the women stepped over the man with shaky legs and stood beside Irene and Sylvia. The rest shook their heads. They made no protest, just slowly stepped back into the dark corners of the room, letting the shadows and their fear engulf them.

Irene did not spare another thought and looked to the three women to follow her. She approached the door, gripped the gun tightly, and pushed with all her weight on the heavy door. She held her breath as she stepped out into the hallway alone, sighing when she saw there were no guards present. She looked back and said quietly, “Come on.”

Every hiss and drip from the pipes as well as the echoes of their steps left them on edge. The sounds of footsteps and doorways from the floor above could be heard opening and closing, leaving them with pounding hearts. Irene remembered the way she had come in after being captured. They had removed her hood before leading her to makeshift prison.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Sylvia whispered as they stopped at a corner so that Irene could carefully peer around to see if the next hallway was clear. The path was clear and Irene looked back to the teenager and nodded both to answer her question and to confirm that they were good to keep moving.

At the end of the hallway they were met with the option of another hallway and a flight of stairs with a closer door at the top. Irene held her hand up and quietly requested the women wait as she silently climbed the stairs. As her eyes rose to the level of the bottom of the door she was able to see the shadow of two feet on the other side from the crack under the door. 

Irene cursed silently to herself and began to walk back down the stairs. She waved the women toward the hallway so they could determine their next step.

“There’s a guard on the other side of the door. I don’t know if there is another way out of this basement but we could try this hallway and see what we find,” Irene suggested.

The two women that Irene had never become familiar with began to shake and fight back tears. They both held each other tightly and one of them whispered, “I can’t do this. I can’t die like this. I’m going back to the room.”

Irene opened her mouth, ready to protest, but the other woman agreed and without a moment’s notice, they were gone. Irene looked in shock at Sylvia, not believing that these women would be more interested in a life of slavery or worse than taking the risk for freedom.

“I’m staying with you,” Sylvia reassured her and then smirked, “I have an idea.”

Before Irene could question her idea, the teenager ran down the hallway nearly fifteen feet and then stopped, staring at the fire alarm on the wall. Irene’s jaw dropped as she realized what the girl was about to do and held her hand up in protest, afraid to yell at her to stop in fear of gaining unwanted attention.

Sylvia took a deep break and pulled the alarm. In an instant, the emergency lights lit the dark hallways and a mind-numbing alarm blared throughout the entire building. Irene ran to Sylvia and yelled over the alarm, “What are you doing?”

Sylvia did not answer the Woman and grabbed her, pulling her into a dark recess of a doorway. They were just barely able to see down the hallway toward the stairwell. Irene’s heart nearly stopped when she saw the doorway opened and a guard hustled down the stairs, gun in hand. Sylvia squeezed Irene’s arm as they watched the guard turn the corner to go down the hallway they had originally come from.

“Run!” Sylvia breathed out and pulled Irene with her toward the stairwell. They paused briefly at the corner again and saw no sign of the guard and sprinted up the stairs. The speed they were moving at caused their muscles to ache from the countless days of being sedentary. 

The fluorescent lights from the upstairs floor was nearly blinding and Irene had to squint to gain her perspective. There was a hustle from numerous employees trying to scramble toward the emergency exits. Most of the employees paid no mind to the two women until someone saw the gun in Irene’s hand and screamed.

Chaos ensued, causing the building’s occupants to lose control more than ever. People were being trampled and pushed as they tried to make their way as far away from Irene as possible. Sylvia tugged on Irene’s arm as she saw two guards come sprinting toward them, guns out and ready to fire as soon as the employees allowed them a clear shot. Irene grabbed Sylvia’s hand and dragged her into the mess of employees and pushed hard through the sea of panicked people.

Irene felt angry as she pushed her way through the crowd. These people were disgusting. They were all knowingly committing the most horrendous crimes. Just touching their skin made her tempted to put the finger on the trigger of the gun and waste the precious ammo. She knew she couldn’t let that distract her as she fought as hard as she could toward the exit. She could see the city street through the doorway and several people wedged in the doorway, causing the backup.

“Cover your ears,” Irene yelled to Sylvia. People looked at Irene as she yelled over the fire alarm and noisy people, not knowing she was the one in possession of the gun until she raised it in the air and fired two shots.

With terrified screams, the crowd dispersed to any doorway or hallway that would get them away from her. The path cleared for them but also for the guards and now there were more of them. 

Irene and Sylvia broke out into the daylight and ran down the cement stairs of the emergency exit. Irene held the gun up, moving as fast as she could walking backwards while Sylvia cried for her to just run.

The guards came out of the exit and immediately began to fire. Irene did not hold back and fired back. Her aim was ruthless. Three of the five guards quickly crumbled to the ground and fell down the stairs. One of the guards dropped to help his companions while the other continued to fire back. Irene suspected she did not have much ammo left and fired with reckless abandon. 

In the process, she heard Sylvia scream behind her but did not turn around until she fired. A bullet pierced the guard right above his collarbone and she watched as he clutched his bleeding throat and fell to the ground.

Irene turned around and went to grab Sylvia in order to run but saw that the girl had been hit. She was barely standing, grabbing onto a gunshot wound on her left arm. The blood was flowing dark and steady with each heartbeat. If she didn’t get immediate help she would bleed out.

“We need to move,” Irene said with a shaky voice as she threw an arm around the teenager’s waist and pulled her close, nearly dragging her as she tried to get to the main street.

Irene did not hear anyone coming after them nor anymore gunshots. She was curious but did not want to look back. Down the small street she could see some of the employees staring at them in fear.

“I feel sick,” Sylvia cried and crumpled to the floor, pulling Irene down to her knees. It had only been a few minutes but the girl was pale as a ghost and covered in a cold sweat. Irene looked back to the building and the sight made her sick.

Moriarty was standing beside the guard she had shot last. His foot was on the man’s chest as if he had just conquered him in an ages long battle. Even with the distance, Irene could see the sick smile on his face. He gave her a mock salute and turned stepped off the man’s body, turned around, and went inside the building.

Irene turned her head to look back toward the main street and saw that some of the employees were running over to them. A man dropped to his knees as Irene screamed for them to get away from her. She expected them to grab her and bring her back but instead they offered help and the man picked up Sylvia effortlessly.

“What are you doing? She needs help! Get away!”

“We are trying to help. We were there as willingly as you were,” one of them said as the man carrying Sylvia ran toward to the street. Irene watched helplessly and followed behind them.

Once on the street, people saw the wounded girl as well as the man who was now covered in her blood as well as Irene.

“Someone call for an ambulance! This girl has been shot!” One of the employees yelled and several strangers came around, cell phones out and calling for help.

“Why are you helping us?” Irene said in absolute shock. The entire situation felt beyond surreal. Why was Moriarty not sending men after her? Why were these people who were clearly working for Moriarty helping her? He had to expect that the entire front of their operation in that building was now blown. 

One of the employees said, “I’m an endocrinologist. I’ve been working there for two months against my will. They threatened to kill my family if I didn’t. We’ve all been trapped there.”

“Aren’t you afraid he’ll do it now?” Irene asked. She could already hear the blaring siren of an ambulance not far away. She looked nervously toward Sylvia. She knew she shouldn’t but she also knew she had no choice now. She looked to the people helping them and said, “I’m sorry but I need to go.”

There wasn’t a chance for anyone to protest as Irene, with bare feet, ran down the street. It did not take long to come across an M&S to slip inside. She wasted no time picking a phone from a teenager’s pocket. Then she found a pair of shoes and an outfit she was able to lift while in the dressing room.

Once back on the street, Irene called her home. She called Anthea.


	32. Chapter 32

“I don’t care what you have to do. Find them!” Anthea yelled into her phone, wishing she could slam it down like the phones she used growing up with the agency. There was no satisfaction in hitting the red button on the touch screen. She fought the urge to scream but took a moment to run her fingers through her hair and tug in frustration. With a heavy sigh, she collected herself before entering the hallway.

Anthea had come down to check on Lestrade only to find his hospital bed empty. A further search for John and Sherlock left her similar results. After breaking into the hospital security office, she searched through the surveillance of the floor Lestrade had been on. She felt her blood pressure rise as she watched the trio as well as some unknown woman step onto the elevator. It took the viewing of several cameras before Anthea found a clip of them in the parking lot and getting into a little Fiat. She made note of the license plate.

She wasn’t sure if she should tell Mycroft that his brother had run away with an armed doctor, a seriously injured detective inspector, and a strange woman. The last thing that Mycroft needed was the stress but the entire situation couldn’t be avoided. She spoke with the new doctor that had been assigned to her boss and worked out his medication dosage so that he could receive some assistance with the stress but not be incapacitated like he had been. 

It took nearly twelve hours since Anthea had found the shell of the man known as Mycroft Holmes before he was responsive again. He wasn’t as sharp as normal but she knew he needed more time for the strong drugs to leave his system. 

Anthea paced the hallway outside of Mycroft’s room. She had peaked in to hear him in the bathroom. She left the room, considering how best to discuss the current situation. They were accustomed to Sherlock doing ridiculous things but with the fact that they were being hunted and played with like a cruel animal with its dinner, she knew Mycroft wanted to keep tabs on his brother.

The phone ringing in Anthea’s hands caused her to stop her pacing. The number was not familiar but she answered it hesitantly.

“Anthea?” said a cautious but familiar voice. There was a pause and Anthea breathed out, “Irene?”

“Oh god, Anthea,” Irene cried, “your voice is the most beautiful thing. Please say my name again.”

“Irene,” Anthea whispered. She glanced around and realized some nurses were looking at her. Since they no longer had use of their own part of the hospital, she knew she wouldn’t find much seclusion. She stepped into Mycroft’s room to continue the phone call. She grabbed the tissues from the nightstand beside his bed and sat in the chair on the other side. Mycroft was still in the bathroom but she could hear the shower running now.

Tears were pouring down Anthea’s face and she dabbed at her cheeks with the rough tissue paper and asked, “Where are you? I’ll send someone for you right away.”

“I’m in London. I escaped but I’m not sure if I’m safe. Moriarty let me walk away,” Irene briefly explained. She sounded scared and unsure. They both knew they wanted to be rejoined as soon as possible but there was still work to be done.

“None of us are safe,” Anthea whispered. 

“There’s something else,” Irene said, “I found Sylvia Ashworth but...”

Anthea waited for Irene to continue but the growing silence only meant more bad news that she didn’t want to have to relay back to Mycroft. Irene broke the silence with a cry, “We were escaping and she was shot. I abandoned her on the street with some strangers like the monster that I am.”

“She was shot? Are you ok?! I thought he let you walk way?” Anthea questioned and began to worry if Irene was also injured but not letting on. She took a relieved breath when she confirmed she was ok but said, “One of Moriarty’s men raped me. I don’t know if I’m clean or even worse. They were keeping us in boiler rooms. None of the other women wanted to escape with us.”

“There were other women?”

“Anthea, it’s worse than him trying to spread his seed. He’s trafficking women. He’s holding medical staff hostage. I can’t say but they might be raping patients. The building is a nightmare,” Irene explained.

“Where are you now? You’re free so let us come get you,” Anthea pleaded. Irene sighed, “I can’t. I need to find out if Sylvia is ok and I need to find out where these women are going to be sent. I believe now that we know what’s in that facility that they are going to try to move them.”

“What happened to Chuck?” Anthea asked, feeling terrible for almost forgetting about the agent who had accompanied her and also went missing. She wasn’t surprised when Irene said, “I believe he’s dead. They separated us so I can’t be sure.”

“I can’t wait to kill this bastard,” Anthea growled and then said, “I’m going to bring Mycroft and Molly back to London once they are fit to travel. We need to find Natalia. I don’t feel secure going back to the compound.”

Irene sighed, “I wish I could be there with you.”

“You can,” Anthea pleaded, tears were falling from her dark eyes. She knew it was only wishful thinking and didn’t argue when Irene replied, “You know I can’t.”

“Can I at least send you help?”

“My love, you know I work best alone.”

Natalia slipped into the bathtub slowly and carefully. Her balance was getting worse as her stomach expanded and the baby grew. He was getting restless and constantly kicking moving. Sometimes it tickled. Sometimes it hurt. The further the pregnancy progressed, the more desperate she felt. She had begun clawing at the walls, throwing things across the room, and screaming for hours on end. Nothing stirred a response from her captor.

As normal, Natalia was examined by Mary and then quickly sent back to confinement in the luxurious bedroom. It was providing her the only sense of time as the days blurred together. Mary had just informed her that in a few days she’d be at 28 weeks, the third trimester. That meant she had been under Moriarty’s control for over two months. That also meant she was as disposable as ever. She knew from her medical training that at this point her baby could easily survive outside the womb with medical intervention. The kind of medical intervention that Moriarty could provide.

Now more than ever, she wished she had gone through with the plan to take her own life. The glass she had been hiding had been found by the cleaners who had come in one day while she was being examined by Mary. Moriarty had paid her a visit once he found out. He ignored Mary’s warnings to be gentle. His rough fingers ripped out tufts of her hair as he rutted himself into her over and over again. When he had finished, he smacked with the back of hand before grabbing her by her jaw, “I own you,” he spat before pressing her face firmly into the mattress. He smothered her for nearly a minute before releasing her and getting off the bed. She gasped desperately for air as she heard him zip himself up. 

The warm water felt soothing but it was never going to be enough to ease her mind. She had already tried a few times to submerge herself with the intention of not coming back up. Each time, against her own conscious will, she came back to the surface while gasping and reaching out for air. She hated that her body still aimed for survival. There were no electronic items in the room for her to drop in the bath. She was thinking of any possible way for escape. 

Natalia had even considered using her sheets and the bed in an attempt to hang or even strangle herself. She knew she was under surveillance and by the time she would be able to get herself situated, Moriarty’s guards would be there and she’d have to face his wrath once more.

The only option the scared woman could think of was if she could sneak something from the exam room. Anything could work if it was a strong enough dose, she thought. Mary had allowed her privacy to change into the hospital gown during her exams. She decided that even if she was watched by security cameras, she could move fast enough to find anything. A drug or a scalpel would do. Injectables would be faster but she’d had to find a syringe as well as the drug itself. If she found pills, they could easily force her to throw up or pump her stomach. A scalpel would be most ideal if she could muster the courage to attack herself with reckless abandon.

Natalia never imagined she’d be planning her own demise like this. She had a passion for living that had been destroyed by a demon. She had almost entirely forgotten her champion. Mycroft barely crossed her mind and when he did, it only made her angry. He had failed her. He promised to protect her. She imagined he probably said to everyone that he would find her. She had lost all hope of it.

Lost in her own thoughts, Natalia did not hear the bedroom door open. She had just opened her eyes to see a strange man standing in the bathroom doorway. He simply stared at her. He did not seem interested in the fact that she was naked which helped her remain a little calm as she sat up in the tub. She couldn’t be bother to cross her arms over her chest. Moriarty had stolen all her dignity. She had nothing left to cover or save.

The man had glowing red hair with a streak of bleach blonde hair. He was young and not dressed like Moriarty’s men that normally came into the room. He looked deadly serious which was also different that the others. They always looked at her like a piece of meat. They loved to tease and taunt her. But he didn’t.

“You’re the one they’re all after, eh?” The young man said, his voice carried a thick Irish accent. She simply nodded in response and then stood up in the bath, the soapy water running down her naked form. He still showed no care to her nudity. He walked over to the sink and grabbed a towel from the counter and held it open, “I need you.”

“Where’s Moriarty?” Natalia asked, ignoring his statement as she stepped out of the bathtub and approached the man. He helped wrap the towel around her and stepped away, never letting his own skin touch hers.

“Don’t you think the more appropriate question should be to ask who I am?” he said in response. Natalia stared blankly at him, “I really don’t care at this point. For all I know, you’re the one to kill me. Are you here to cut my baby out of me?”

Finally, there was an emotion on his face. He looked horrified, “Why would I do that?”

“You tell me,” was all Natalia had to say about it. She sat on the edge of the tub and hugged the soft towel close to her body. Being out of the tub, she felt cold with her damp skin. 

“I don’t have the time to explain but I need you to come with me,” he ordered. Natalia looked at the man as if he were crazy and informed him of the surveillance. “

“I took it down. We only have a few minutes before they realize what’s happening. I have clothes on the bed for you,” the man told her. She raised an eyebrow in amusement and thought if he was really trying to get her out and they failed, it could be the easiest way to get killed and she honestly wouldn’t care.

But if they were successful…

“I hope you knew to get maternity clothes.”


	33. Chapter 33

Molly sat at the oak table in Mycroft’s dining room. There were photos spread over, mostly of bodies and mostly gruesome. Examining photos was the only type of assistance she could offer in her slowly improving condition. It had been over two months since she was poisoned. Over two months since she had last heard from Sherlock.

Once Molly had been stable to move, she was transported back to London. Anthea had Mycroft’s home in Belgravia secured and they had been residing there since departing the hospital in the countryside. Molly wished it were an improvement from the compound but it all felt like one prison after another as they did their best to shield themselves from Moriarty. 

People were being picked off daily. It was a constant reminder of what their fate would be if they didn’t figure out how to move from the criminal mastermind’s shadow. Molly was unsure if Mycroft and Anthea had any form of a plan. They didn’t share much and she wondered if it meant there wasn’t much to share.

Molly’s recovering was moving forward but it felt like it was at a snail’s pace. She had constant migraines and fatigue was controlling her life. They couldn’t trust any staff to come in regularly to check or treat her. After consulting with the agency’s doctors, they had provided a treatment plan for Molly, including physical therapy. Everyday, Anthea apologized over and over again as she helped Molly maneuver into poses that caused her to ache all over. It was necessary as whatever the poison had been, it had managed to make Molly’s muscles practically waste away. It was as if her body had aged thirty years in the course of weeks.

Molly had only just been able to make progress forward. She had felt like she was barely breaking even. She was finally able to walk without Anthea’s assistance. She used a walker, which embarrassed her. She feared Sherlock walking through the front door and seeing her in such a weak state. The looks of guilt Mycroft gave her felt like a sample of what was to come when his brother hopefully returned. Luckily, she didn’t have to see Mycroft too often as he constantly locked himself in his office or snuck out through a secret tunnel underneath the house. There was also a modified bunker from the second World War. They had showed her the passage and bunker when she had arrived so that if the home was attacked, she could escape or find refuge.

“Why don’t you rest?” Anthea asked as she watched Molly rub her strained eyes. She frowned at the state of her best friend. She was frail and thin as she had been having trouble gaining weight. With the muscle loss, she looked so breakable. She was beginning to feel a bit relieved that her weight had started to go up. It wasn’t much but it was start.

Molly sighed, pushing the photos of a decapitated agent away and looked up to meet Anthea’s worried gaze, “Tell whoever is examining this body to check between his toes. I don’t believe he was decapitated before his death.”

Anthea nodded and said again, “Why don’t you rest?”

“All I do is rest,” Molly said bitterly. The tone of her voice was becoming a constant. She hated it but she also couldn’t help it. With another sigh she tried to push the chair so that she could stand. She lacked the strength but Anthea was behind pulling out the chair before she could even curse with frustration.

“How long are we going to live like this, Anthea?” Molly asked as Anthea positioned the walker in front of her so that she could stand up. Anthea did not offer to help her stand as she knew Molly would not appreciate it. 

“I wish I knew.”

Molly was finally standing and breathing heavy from the effort. She gasped as silently as she could to keep Anthea from being concerned but it was of no use. She ignored Anthea’s expression and slowly shuffled her feet forward.

“I’m going to go call Sherlock,” Molly said as she tried to walk from Anthea. She heard the disappointed sound escape Anthea before she said, “You know he never answers. Why do you keep torturing yourself?”

Molly did not turn around to look back at Anthea as she replied, “Because I believe in Sherlock Holmes.”

Molly’s room was on the first floor so that she could have the easiest access. She collapsed on her bed once she had closed her door. With a struggle, she managed to pull her legs onto the bed and wrap herself in the blankets. With a shaky arm, she reached over to her night stand and picked up the phone she had been given once they had gotten to London.

Anthea did not tell Mycroft that Molly had been trying to contact his brother for nearly two months. He would have considered a serious gap in their security and while Anthea agreed, it was the only thing that seemed to keep Molly going. 

With shaky fingers, Molly dialed Sherlock’s number. The call went straight to voicemail and then a message announced that the mailbox was full. She knew to expect it but it hurt all the same. She knew Sherlock was volatile but he had disappeared with John and Greg, which wasn’t like him. When he normally disappeared, it was on his own, and it usually involved him being found in a drug den or alley. She accepted that the circumstances were different this time but she expected that John or Greg would at least make contact. Even Mycroft was at a loss as to where they were and that was hard to believe. It was part of the reason Molly demanded to see the photos of every body they found. She wanted to make sure their bodies were not part of the many that were disfigured beyond facial, dental, and fingerprint recognition.

Molly laid the phone down beside her pillow before resting her head on it. She gently stroked the phone, willing it to ring. She had done this everyday since she had received the phone. It did not ring once.

It didn’t take long for Molly to drift off. When she did, her mind raced with terrible dreams of hospital rooms and dead bodies. She was stuck in a reoccurring scenario where she was strapped to a hospital bed, still intubated and fully awake. She was choking the tubes couldn’t removed them no matter how hard she struggled. The doctors were corpses. Some of them were missing their heads, either in full or part, and usually there were bloody stumps for fingers. She panicked more and more as they approached her and touched her. She couldn’t scream. As her heart rate picked up, the machines she was hooked to beeped and wailed for her.

Molly’s eyes shot open. She was covered in a cold sweat and gasping for air. She could sill hear the hospital machines blaring in her ear. After several gasps, she realized it was not the hospital equipment but her phone. She scrambled to grab it with her clumsy hands and answered the unknown number as fast as she could.

“Hello? Hello?” Molly quickly asked, pressing the phone against her ear with urgency. With much aching, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, waiting for a response. She was not disappointed.

“Molly?”

It was Greg.

“Greg, is that you?” Molly asked breathlessly. He confirmed it was and she found herself smiling for the first time in months. She felt overwhelmed and ready to cry but she held the tears back.

“Are you ok? Where have you been?” She asked. She wanted to ask a million questions. She specifically wanted to ask about Sherlock but didn’t want to make Greg feel like she didn’t care about his wellbeing and safety as much as the man she loved that she hoped still loved her back.

There was silence and Greg replied, “I can’t talk long. We’re ok. We’re coming back into the country. We need to know where Mycroft is. We think we finally have an advantage.”

“How did you get my number?” Molly asked and then felt silly when Greg replied, “This was the only number still trying to call Sherlock’s phone. We couldn’t risk calling from it or answering calls. We didn’t know if Moriarty was tracking it.”

“We’re in his home in Belgravia. It’s secure,” Molly informed him. Her heart was racing with joy at the thought of Sherlock coming home and even more so because there was good news.

Greg asked, “Is there anyway we can speak to Mycroft?”

Molly paused. She would have to get out of bed and find Mycroft. He was most likely upstairs in his study judging by the time. It was nearly two in the morning. Mycroft rarely slept unless Anthea made him taken his medicine. Anthea would also be upstairs, probably sleeping in her room. Molly was not able to climb the stairs.

“Can you wait while I fetch him?” 

“You’ll need to hurry, Molly. We don’t have much time,” Greg said worriedly. Molly lied, “It’ll just take a second.” She did not want him to know how useless her body had become. She didn’t want Sherlock knowing in fear it would keep him away.

Molly kicked off the sheets as fast as she could and reached out for her walker. She left the phone on the bed as she didn’t have pockets and it would be hard for her to carry the phone while holding onto the walker. She pulled herself up, groaning from the effort but feeling accomplished to get up on her own. She mad her way out of her room and into the hallway.

“Mycroft!” Molly called out. Her voice cracked and sounded feeble from sleep. She cleared her throat and called out to him again as she made her way to the staircase.

After calling him several times with no answer, Molly decided she would have to go upstairs. She looked at the nearly two-dozen steps and grimaced. It would take her all night. She called out to Mycroft once more but still did not get a response.

Molly reached a hand to the banister and held onto it fiercely before letting go of her walker entirely. She hugged the ornate banister as best as she could and raised a leg. It felt like it weighed as heavy as baby elephant but she succeeded in clearly the first step and smiled to herself. With more effort, she was able to carry her other leg up.

Surprisingly, Molly was moving up the steps faster than she thought she could. It was still an incredibly slow pace though. She called out to Mycroft on every step.

Molly was nearly halfway up the stairs when she called out again. She heard movement upstairs. She moved her head to quickly look up and saw that a light had been turned on. The sudden movement of her head made everything spin. Her vision was blurry and felt her body sway. 

“Molly?” she heard the authoritative voice before her foot slipped and she fell back.


End file.
